


Lyanys

by WhiteWinds66



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Gen, Jon-centric, Pre-Canon, R plus L equals J
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-03-06 06:06:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 36,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13405035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteWinds66/pseuds/WhiteWinds66
Summary: Jon Snow makes a discovery in Winterfell's crypts, starting a chain of events that could spell doom for House Stark.





	1. The Crypts

**Author's Note:**

> 3 years pre-canon.  
> Mostly based on show.

Jon

Jon was used to going unseen. Being the Bastard of Winterfell had that one advantage at least, but he had always felt bitter when people would purposefully avoid him. But now, as he snuck into the kitchen as Winterfell’s cooks prepared the castle’s evening meal, he was glad for it. His brother Robb had concocted an evil plan, one which required a fair amount of flour. Jon heard a servant stomping his way and he quickly moved behind a small alcove, the effort making his breath ragged. He slowed his breathing as best he could as the servant passed. The smell of food that lingered was intoxicating, causing Jon’s mouth to water. But he had a mission, and he needed to focus. He pushed out from the alcove, crouching to keep from being spotted by the cooks. He jumped at the sound of a cleaver slicing through bone, nearly falling flat on his face, but caught himself. After a few more terrifying moments, he found himself in front of the kitchens’ storage room. Jon pushed open the door and snatched a sack of flour. Half walking, half sprinting, Jon made his way to Robb’s chambers. They had agreed earlier that day to four knocks, with a break between the first and last two knocks.

Robb’s door swung open and Jon hurriedly stepped in.

“Do you have it? Please tell me you have it.” Robb said, slightly pleadingly.

“Of course I have it, I am a master of stealth. No one saw me.” Robb visibly eased as Jon held up the sack of flour proudly.

“So, what’s the plan now Robb? How do you expect to get Arya, Bran, _and_ Sansa to come down to the crypts?”

“I have my ways brother. Just be ready in ten minutes, It’s not long now!” Robb said excitedly, patting him on the shoulder and leaving to find their brother and sisters.

Jon sighed as he left his brothers chambers, not exactly looking forward to dousing himself in flour. He was also a little apprehensive of going into the crypts alone. He had only gone their once before, with his father and with Robb. Lord Stark had wanted them to see the history of their family. Jon had felt uncomfortable from the moment they had descended into the crypts. He was a Snow, not a Stark. He had no place there. His father had walked them through all of the dead members of House Stark, ending with his sister, Lyanna. Jon could tell that his father was uncomfortable when they stood in front of her statue, though Jon supposed it was just memories that had caused the sweat on his brow to form.

He left the door to the crypts open, sprinkling a line of flour behind him as he started down the stairs. He decided to stop at his aunt’s statue, her hand outstretched as if beckoning him. Jon stepped behind her statue and dumped the rest of the flour over his head, sneezing once or twice as he tried not to breathe in the airborne flour.

\---

Jon had been standing behind Lyanna’s statue for a good fifteen minutes if he had to guess. He started to wonder in this was some cruel trick that his siblings were playing on him. But he knew Robb enough to know that he considered Jon a true brother, no matter his status. As did Arya, and Bran as far as he could tell. Sansa on the other hand was always at her mother’s side. Ever the proper lady, she avoided him as much as she could, and was always cold to him when they did speak, which was a rare occurrence. Rickon was too young to understand what he was, but Jon was sure he would end up like his brothers. Just as Jon thought to leave and clean himself up he heard the echoing of footsteps coming down the stairs.

“Look there Arya. Don’t you see it? I’m not kidding, I saw a ghost. I know it.” Jon had to suppress a laugh at that. The footsteps came closer.

“There’s no such thing as ghosts you know?” Came Sansa’s voice, with an almost undetectable hint of uncertainty.

“I saw what I saw, I swear it.” Robb retorted.

“What did it look like Robb?” Bran asked, fear in his voice.

“It looked real, like you and me. Only it was completely white.” Robb explained. The footsteps stopped right in front of him.

“The trail stops here. What now?” Arya said, her adventurous nature trumping any fear she might have.

“Wait here and stay quiet. It’ll be back, I know it.” Robb said softly.

After a few tense moments Sansa scoffed, breaking the silence.

“See I told you ghosts didn’t exist.” She said confidently.

Jon took that as his cue and pushed against the wall, feeling it slightly give under the force, but he paid it no mind. Jon jumped from the statues base, landing at the groups side, and gave his best shriek. Arya immediately jumped back screaming, Sansa’s face turned a deathly pale, and Bran squealed and hid behind Robb’s legs. Robb could not contain himself as he started laughing so hard it bounced off of the walls. Jon chanced a look at Arya and saw her eyes roving over him, clearly trying to decide if he was a ghost or not. He turned back to Sansa. She was so pale he thought she would faint. Jon couldn’t keep in his laughter anymore and joined in with Robb.

“Jon?!” Arya asked, bewildered. Jon nodded and she walked over to him and gave him one solid punch to his arm. He started laughing even harder as her punch knocked him off balance and he used the wall to steady himself.

“Seven hells Jon, that’s not funny!” Arya exclaimed.

“Arya!” Sansa chastised her sister, blood returning to her face.

“Jon… Jon… That was the greatest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.” Robb said in between laughs.

Sansa huffed at that, turned and left with Bran following closely behind. Arya started laughing as well, obviously taking the prank better than her sister and little brother.

“You know I was really hoping to see a ghost Robb.” Arya said as their laughter died down.

“I know,” Robb took a deep breath and spoke again. “I guess I should make sure we didn’t scare them too bad. That was bloody fantastic Jon.”

Robb left with a grin on his face, leaving Jon and Arya standing in front of their Aunt Lyanna’s statue.

“You should go too Arya. I’ll be a minute trying to get this flour off me.” Jon said humorously. Arya gave him a wide smile and left.

Jon brushed as much of the flour out of his hair as he could, and swiped down the front of his tunic. He looked back at Lyanna, and saw something that sparked his curiosity. The wall that he had pushed behind her statue was slightly shifted. He moved back to the wall and pushed against it again, the hundreds of hours spent sparring and training paying off as it shifted again. He gave it one final shove and the wall gave, spinning to expose a small space behind it. Jon’s breath caught in his throat at the sight before him. He didn’t need to be a maester to know that he was standing in front of a dragon egg. He kneeled down to look at it closer. The shell was grey, nearly Stark grey, with specks of crimson around the bottom. He was stunned, he felt unable to move so he stared at it, mouth agape. Jon finally mustered the courage and reached out and touched it. It was cold in the crypts, near freezing even in the summertime, yet the egg felt warm against his palm. He picked it up in his hands, touching each scale with care. Jon told himself that he should put it back and leave, just completely forget that he had ever found it, but he couldn’t do it. It was as if it would pain him to be parted from it. He decided to smuggle the egg to his room. Jon picked up the flour sack and squeezed the egg inside of it. He put the wall back into place and cleared the area, making sure no trace of his presence was left behind. After he had swept away most of the flour he started back towards the castle.

\---

Jon had purposefully taken the long way back to his room, hoping to miss most of the castle’s residents. Luckily, he ran into no one on the way back. He hurriedly opened his chamber door and carefully placed the sack on his bed. There was really nowhere he could hide it in his room, he could put it under his bed, but what idiot hides a dragon egg under their bed? Suddenly struck with a thought, Jon grabbed his sword and stuck it in between a couple of boards and tried to pry them open. Another advantage of being a bastard -well maybe not an advantage so to speak- was his chambers. Though a little cramped, his chambers were perfect for hiding something. Servants were rarely sent to his chambers, so there would be no one to accidentally stumble upon it. Also, the floor was positively ancient. The boards popped up with ease, revealing a small space just large enough for the egg to fit in. Jon placed the egg, flour sack and all down into the space. He placed the boards back over the hollow and hammered the nails lightly back into place with the pommel of his sword, leaving it just loose enough to be lifted up by hand. He then threw a fur over it for good measure.

Jon felt near exhausted the time he was done. He thought about making an appearance at dinner but thought different of it, instead opting to lay down and get some sleep. He spared a final glance to the spot at the foot of his bed and shut his eyes.


	2. Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon has a dream, and shares his secret.

Jon

_Jon had his eyes closed and his arms wrapped around a gigantic mass of muscle. He gripped tightly as he felt himself bound forward after three ground shaking strides. He slowly opened his eyes and felt astounded. He saw Winterfell and all its inhabitants looking up at him. Jon was flying, sat astride a dark grey dragon. He watched Winterfell slowly disappear as they headed south._

\---

Jon awoke to impatient knocking at his door. He found that he was covered in a layer of sweat. Jon almost found his voice to respond when the door burst open, revealing Arya.

“Are you sick or something?” She asked, concerned.

“No, I don’t think so.” Jon rasped.

“Well why are you still in bed? It’s nearly noon. You’re usually up before everyone else.”

“I guess scaring you all took a lot out of me.” He joked, half serious.

“You didn’t scare me you know.” She said, with utter conviction. Jon slowly sat up in his bed and looked her in the eye.

“Oh, is that right? Because I’m pretty sure that was you I saw running away screaming.” Jon japed, causing Arya’s face to redden in equal parts embarrassment and anger. Jon uncovered himself and turned to sit on the edge of the mattress, noticing he was still wearing his flour caked tunic.

“Anyway, Robb sent me to get you. Said you promised to spar with him today.”

“Thank you, Arya. Tell him I’ll be along shortly.” Arya nodded quickly and ran out of his room.

Almost immediately after she left, his gaze shifted towards the foot of his bed. He decided to check on the egg later as he had apparently slept half the day away, having dreams of dragons no less. Arya would surely love to hear that one. Jon changed into a fresh set of trousers and a new tunic, and left for the courtyard.

\-----

Arya

 

Arya could hear Jon and Robb sparring from her seat across from Septa Mordane. The Septa was trying to get her to sew a flower on a handkerchief, her sloppy efforts earning her constant mockery from Sansa. Luckily, the Septa decided to end the class early which meant Arya would be free for at least an hour until her mother would find her. She decided to go watch her brothers spar, and maybe even get in some practice with bow and arrow. She walked down to the courtyard and sat down at the table, watching Robb step forward and land a strike on Jon’s left shoulder. Jon hissed from the strike, and tried to return the favor, blocking a strike from Robb and sidestepping him. His sword just barely missed Robb’s chest. Robb took advantage of the opportunity and landed another strike, this time on Jon’s sword arm.

“You’re slow today brother. I’m starting to think I’m getting better than you.” Robb said, catching his breath.

“Maybe you are. I need a break. Can we do this later?” Jon asked, leaning on his sword.

“Sure. I’ll go see what Bran’s up to.” Robb returned his practice sword to the rack and walked off.

Jon walked over to the table, leaned his sword against it, and sat opposite her. She watched him as he put his head in his hands and sighed.

“Are you sure you’re not sick? You never lose to Robb that bad.” She said, seriously.

“Yes, I’m sure. Just distracted is all.” He responded, not looking up from his hands. Sensing that Jon wasn’t that interested in her company, she went to stand up and leave.

“Arya wait,” Jon said, looking up to her. She met his gaze and returned to her seat. “If I show you something… will you promise not to tell anyone.”

“Like a secret?” She asked. Her interest peaked, she sat up straighter, eagerly waiting to hear what Jon had to hide.

Jon nodded. “Yes, like a secret. You promise not to tell?”

“I promise. Now what is it?” She asked impatiently.

Jon sighed deeply, rubbing at his temples. Arya shifted in her chair, leaning closer.

“It’ll probably be easier to show you.” Jon whispered.

\---

They left the courtyard in a hurry, Jon leading her through the castle’s halls. Jon came to a halt at the corridor that led to their chambers. He peeked his head out, making sure no one would see them. Jon grabbed her hand and they sprinted to his chamber door. He quickly opened it and pushed her through, taking one more look outside and shut and locked the door. The nervous look plastered on his face caused her to start to worry.

“Jon, what-“ Before she could finish her question, Jon moved to the foot of his bed and tossed aside the fur rug covering the floor. He looked up at her one last time and started ripping boards up. She felt sweat starting to form on her forehead as Jon reached into a space beneath the floor. He pulled out a leather sack, held it upside down and carefully removed an egg. Arya felt her jaw drop.

“Is that what I think it is?” She breathed.

“Yes, this is a dragon egg.” Jon said nervously.

Her eyes widened as she looked over the egg. It was magnificent. As if reading her thoughts, Jon motioned for her to kneel down with him. She got down, eyes never leaving the egg. He held it out to her and she reached out, hands shaking. Arya exhaled as she felt the cold scales against her palms. She was left speechless, but then Jon said something that left her feeling confused.

“Doesn’t it feel warm?” He asked.

 “No. What are you talking about? It feels cold, like a stone.” Now Jon was confused. He took back the egg and rubbed his hands across it, which made him look even more baffled.

“Arya… It’s nearly scalding. Do you really not feel it?”

Arya pressed her hand against it but still felt nothing.

“No, it’s still cold.” She said disappointedly. “Where did you find it?”

“The wall behind Aunt Lyanna’s statue was false. The only thing behind it was the egg.” Jon answered. Arya nodded in understanding even though this revelation only left her with more questions.

“So… whose egg do think it is?”

“Huh?”

“The Targaryens have traditionally gifted a dragon egg to every child born into the family.” Jon gave her a curious look. “What? Reading is way more fun than sewing.” Jon chuckled at that, making her smile. “Rhaegar’s maybe?” Arya asked.

“Maybe, father probably knows whose it is.”

“Do we ask him?” She questioned, looking at him.

“No. Not yet at least.” Jon stared into her eyes and she nodded, remembering her promise. His eyes flitted back to the egg.

“Last night, I also had a… dream.”

“Of what?”

“I dreamed I was flying, on the back of a dark grey dragon. We were going south.” Arya remembered how she found him this morning, and she was struck by a thought.

“That would be amazing. Can you imagine? The first ever Stark dragon rider.” She suddenly found herself feeling giddy, but Jon soured her mood.

“I’m not a Stark.” He said sadly. Arya felt sorry for him, though that quickly turned into anger.

“You are to me, and always will be. You are a Stark, I don’t care what anyone else says!”

Jon smiled, laying the dragon egg on the floor.

“Thank you, Arya, truly.” He cleared his throat and scratched the back of his head. “So, since you are the expert on everything dragon related, how exactly do you hatch a dragon egg?”

“I don’t know. Dragons have been extinct for more than a century.” She sighed, frustrated. Arya stood up and walked to the door. “Wait here. I’m gonna go find the book I was reading.”

\---

Jon

Jon had debated whether or not to tell Arya about the dragon egg every moment since he had woken up. He was glad that he did though. It felt like a weight had been taken off his chest after he told her. He knew he could trust her. He trusted Robb of course, but he was the heir to Winterfell and duty would force him to tell their father. Bran and Rickon were far too young to entrust with this kind of secret, and as far as he could tell, Sansa hated him for being something he had no control over, like her mother. Jon started to pace around his room. So many thoughts were coursing through his mind that it was hard to focus. Fortunately for him, a soft knock at his door took him out of his reverie.

“It’s me. Hurry up!”

Jon sprinted to the door and hurried Arya inside, closing and bolting the door behind her. She walked over to a small desk he had in the corner and heaved a massive book on top of it, the wood creaking under its weight. The book was old, that much he could tell. The edges were frayed and the pages yellowed. He moved to stand beside her at the desk, the light coming in from the window above his room enough for him to read the cover.

“The History and Lineage of House Targaryen. You read this?” Jon asked.

“Only the fun bits.” Was Arya’s earnest response. He felt his lips curl into a smile.

Jon started skimming through the pages, not finding much helpful information. The tome gave a detailed history of the lives of the Targaryen ancestors, ending with Aerys Targaryen, ‘The Mad King’. He found a section on the Tragedy at Summerhall, and slowly read over each word.

“In 259 AC, King Aegon V Targaryen attempted to resurrect dragons with the use of sorcery. The ensuing fire burned Summerhall to the ground and took the lives of the king and his son, Ser Duncan the Tall.” Jon continued flipping through the book until he started seeing mentions of dragons. “Most of the Targaryen dragons were trained to take commands in High Valyrian, though some were trained in the common tongue.” He had almost given up when a sheet freed itself from the confines of the book. It looked much older than the others. Arya picked it up and he watched her eyes widen.

“Bathed in fire and offered blood. Only death pays for life. Fire and Blood.” Arya held out the paper and he saw it. A drawing of a cracked open dragon egg, with a newborn dragon at its side.


	3. Fire and Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya overhears something she shouldn't, and continues to dig for information. Jon follows his instincts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not my best writing, that's for sure, but I hope you like it anyway.  
> 'Apologies for what you are about to see.'

Jon

The same dream occurred in his sleep following he and Arya’s discovery. Only this time it was stronger, more vivid. Even now as he replayed it in his mind, he could still feel the heat from the dragon’s scales, the way she rumbled as he clutched her neck, praying to the Old Gods that he not fall. That was what mystified him the most though. She. Her. Somehow, someway, he knew that she was a she. He had seemingly already formed a bond with an unhatched dragon. Like his dreams weren’t dreams, but visions.

Jon was sitting at the same table in the courtyard, listening to Robb and Theon Greyjoy spar. His attention though, was focused on a candle that was burning down. The flame flickered and waved with the gentle late summer breeze. This summer had lasted near on seven years, yet Winterfell had received a summer snow in the night. It had completely melted off by midday, leaving the courtyard muddy. He surmised that was the reason he had been hauled out of his room by Robb. Jon was still far too unfocused to properly spar with him however, and poor Robb was starting to think he was the next Arthur Dayne. He mindlessly extended his hand over the candle. The heat was alluring, forcing his palm closer to the flame. He quickly withdrew his hand as the candle bit into the skin of his hand. It was hot, but it wasn’t the same kind of heat he felt whenever he was near the dragon egg. The heat he felt when he held it was nothing in comparison, it was like his entire body was aflame, but wasn’t painful. Jon looked at his hand and saw a nasty red mark that was probably going to blister. He looked up as Robb and Theon, caked in mud, clambered down to sit at the table.

“Who won? I wasn’t watching.”

“Why not? Too busy staring at arse Snow?” Theon asked, pointing off towards a comely servant carrying a bucket of water. Jon gave him an annoyed look and he backed off. “Fine, if you won’t I will.”

“I won. Sidestepped him as he lunged and he fell face first into the mud.” Robb said, puffing out his chest with pride. Theon turned back to them both looking insulted.

“You cheated. I bet I could take you both on right now and not get hit once.” He said, cocksure.

“How bout’ it Jon? Wanna show the Greyjoy his place?” Robb asked him, sending a threatening look Theon’s way.

“No, you two go ahead. I need to go see Maester Luwin.” Jon stood to leave but Robb grabbed his arm, halting him.

“Are you okay Jon? You’ve been acting very strange the last couple days.” He asked, face contorting in concern.

Jon tensed for a moment before speaking.

“I’ll be fine. Must be the weather is all.” Robb seemed hesitant to accept his answer, but eventually conceded.

“See? Snow’s just afraid to lose to me.” Theon chimed in. Jon ignored him and walked off toward the Maester’s turret, hearing his cries of ‘Yield!’ as he walked through the door.

\---

“How did you manage this?” Maester Luwin asked as he applied ointment to Jon’s burnt palm.

Jon quickly thought of an excuse, chiding himself for not thinking of one beforehand.

“I knocked into a torch and tried to catch it.” Jon said, cringing internally at his own words.

“Hmm.” He seemed unconvinced but continued, starting to wrap his hand, causing him to hiss at the stinging sensation. “Alright there. Come back tomorrow and I’ll change the bandage. It should heal in a few days.”

“Thank you, Maester.” Jon’s attention turned to the window as a raven landed on the windowsill. Around its leg was a letter bearing the sigil of House Baratheon.

\-----

Arya

 

This day was as boring as any other, sitting through another session with the Septa and every snobbish girl in Winterfell. She tried to pay attention and learn, but her mind was elsewhere. Her thoughts constantly returned to the dragon egg, and their discovery in the book last night. After another failed attempt at sewing, she had been dismissed and walked to her parent’s chambers. Arya hoped her father would be able to find a horse that would be suitable for her to start practicing riding. As she neared the closed door she could hear voices coming from the other side.

“Why does he care for my opinion? He knows my thoughts on the matter.” Came her father’s voice. She quickly looked around. Seeing no one, she leaned closer against the door.

“Because you are his best friend. He trusts you as much as he does his own Hand.” Her mother said. Father gave a short laugh.

“It doesn’t matter how much he trusts me or Jon Arryn. Robert has, and always will do whatever he wants, this letter probably wasn’t even his doing.”

“Yes, that may be, but your words may prevent him from doing anything rash.”

“From what I’ve heard he has already tried to do it before.” He said sadly. “His hatred for the Targaryen’s runs too deep. He won’t stop until those children are dead.”

Arya heard footsteps approaching and tore herself from the door. She walked briskly towards her chambers. She made up her mind to visit Jon later tonight and tell him what she had heard. That the Targaryen’s were still alive.

\-----

Jon

He had taken his dinner to his chambers that night, refusing to stay under the judging gaze of Lady Catelyn any longer. He finished his meal and set the plate aside. The night would be a cold one, some had even said they might get another snow, so he started a fire in his hearth.

\---

Jon tended to the fire for what felt like hours. He retrieved the dragon egg from the floor and held it in front of him. The grey and crimson scales seemed to sparkle in the firelight. The heat coming from the hearth however, paled in comparison to the egg. He slowly walked towards the fire, feeling the egg grow increasingly warmer as he approached, like it was calling out. He knelt before the fire and looked one last time to the egg, and without hesitating, placed it within the hearth. He pulled his hands from the blaze and felt nothing, his hands were unscathed. Jon swore he saw the egg start to glow, and the flames suddenly turned a brilliant blue. The fire roared and grew larger, obstructing the egg from view. He stayed, glued to the spot, and watched as the blue flame started to warp the stone mantle.

\-----

Arya

 

Arya paced around her chambers waiting for the right moment to leave and see Jon. Her hands were shaking with anticipation, so she continued to read through the book on the Targaryen’s. The section that they had found on dragons was short and without much elaboration. A consequence of them being extinct. The page that they had found was obviously not from the book, and it was near maddening not knowing who had put it there.

Arya lazily flipped through the pages, doing her best not to fall asleep, when she came across a section listing physical descriptions of various members of the House. Every Targaryen that married in the family bore children with the easily recognizable silver hair and purple eyes. Nearly every child born to a member of another house, such as the Martell’s, were more likely to sport features more akin to that house. It was common knowledge that Rhaegar’s daughter, Rhaenys, was born without silver hair nor purple eyes. While his son, Aegon, was said to have had both of those features. She looked up to the candle slowly burning away on her desk and thought about the conversation she overheard. She felt a jolt go through her as she had a thought that could only be described by one word, impossible. The dragon egg was found behind Lyanna’s statue, most likely given by Rhaegar. Egg’s which are usually passed down to children, not given to kidnap victims. Which makes the entire situation even more puzzling. Everyone in Westeros believes that one of the reasons for the rebellion was Rhaegar’s kidnap and rape of Lyanna Stark. But if that were true, then why would her father have kept the dragon egg? It was clear that he knew about it, as he ordered and personally oversaw his sister’s burial within the crypts. _Did Aunt Lyanna have a child?_ The more she thought, the more hysterical she became. Arya slammed the book closed and heaved it under her bed.

\---

She left her chambers and quietly walked to Jon’s door. Arya turned the corner and his chambers came into view. She walked over to it and pushed it open, immediately hit with a wave of intense heat. The sight before her causing the hairs on her neck to stand on end. Jon was on his knees before the smoldering remnants of a fire, his clothes blackened by soot. The stone mantle had almost been completely burned through, leaving it deformed in the center. Jon hadn’t noticed her enter, seemingly entranced by the glowing embers. He leaned forward and started to dig through the ashes and burning coals. Arya almost called out, but stopped short as he didn’t seem to be in pain.

Jon’s face took on a look of complete shock. Arya watched as he slowly withdrew his hands, and she had to grab a nearby chair to keep herself from collapsing. A dragon slowly climbed up Jon’s arm to rest upon his shoulder. It nuzzled into his raven curls and Jon smiled.

“Lyanys.” He whispered.

The grey dragon reared up, spread its wings and let out a small roar.


	4. Lyanys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon welcomes the first dragon into the world in centuries. Jon and Arya work to keep it a secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I liked this chapter too much to keep it to myself, hope y'all like it :)  
> Don't know when next chapter will be up as I'm trying to do longer ones, but I keep running into walls trying to figure out how to continue them without it seeming repetitive or boring.

Jon

 

His pulse was erratic. The flames had turned blue, then back to orange, before finally being extinguished completely. Jon observed the hearth closely. Nothing was left of the egg, only a substantial amount of soot. Jon felt sick, he would never forgive himself if he had destroyed it. He continued staring at the mound of burning coals and ash, praying to any god that would listen, to show him something. His prayers were answered as he saw a slight shift in the ash. Completely on instinct, he leaned forward and started to sift through the ash. He closed his eyes, expecting pain as he searched through the still glowing coals, but he felt no pain, only a tingling sensation. He continued to dig and his fingertips brushed over something familiar, scales. Jon swept away the rest of the ash, and revealed a dragon, no larger than the kitchen cats. His entire body felt numb.

After he had regained some semblance of consciousness, Jon moved his hand over the length of her body. Her eyes opened, revealing blood red irises. She looked into his eyes, rose her head slightly and coughed up ash, creating a small cloud of smoke. Jon cupped his hands in front of her. She stood shakily, getting her footing before clambering onto his hands. Jon lifted her up, eyes never leaving hers. She started to crawl up his right arm, leaving small claw marks as she did. Once upon his shoulder she immediately rubbed her small head against his, causing a wide smile to appear on his face. He hadn’t thought about a name up until that point, but it didn’t take him long.

“Lyanys.”

Jon felt her move on his shoulder, and a moment later release a roar that reverberated throughout the room. He turned his head to try and look at her and instead found Arya leaning against a chair for support, her face devoid of color. He hadn’t known she had entered so he nearly jumped out of his skin. Lyanys moved down from his shoulder to the floor, landing with a small thud. Jon watched her shuffle over to the chair, climbing up one of the legs to get a better look at Arya. Arya looked equal parts fascinated and terrified. Lyanys had positioned herself on the seat and turned back to Jon, head cocked to the side. Arya looked to him as well and he nodded, answering both of their silent questions. Lyanys climbed further up the chair, coming eye level to Arya. Arya’s mouth hung open and she slowly extended her hand to the mythical creature. Lyanys, seemingly impatient, met her halfway by bounding from the chair. Jon’s heart nearly gave out as she did, giving a couple unsure flaps and landing on Arya’s arm.

Arya nearly screamed, but was able to reel it in, with only a small gasp escaping her. She nervously smiled as Lyanys grappled her arm and lowered her head against it, like she was hugging her. Arya looked back to Jon, a question forming at her lips.

“How?” She barely croaked out.

“I… don’t know, it just felt right. Like the fire was calling me to it.” He said, replaying the last few hours in his head. Arya returned her gaze to the dragon still clinging to her arm. She walked carefully over to Jon, and knelt across from him. Lyanys climbed back down from her and laid down on the floor between them, tired from the effort.

“Now what do we do?” Arya asked, looking back to him. Jon scratched the back of his head, fear starting to set in.

“I have to protect her. If someone finds out…” Jon trailed off, the thought alone feeling like daggers to his chest.

“No, _we_ will protect her.” Arya said forcefully. “What will we need?”

Jon thought for a moment, eyes focused on the now sleeping dragon.

“She’ll need food if she’s to start growing. And a cage, like the ones Maester Luwin uses for the ravens. We can’t have her start flying the halls of Winterfell.” Jon laughed for a moment thinking of what his family’s reactions would be, before remembering why he was keeping it a secret.

“Where will she go?”

“Go?” He responded stupidly.

“You can’t keep a dragon in your room, idiot, not unless you want everyone to know.” Arya said, seriously. Jon thought about it, everywhere he considered wouldn’t work, and he didn’t want to return her to the crypts. He stood up and stretched, looking out the window. Then it hit him.

“What about the Broken Tower?” Jon blurted out, spinning around to look back at Arya. She contemplated it for a moment before standing and finding the tower out Jon’s window.

“That could work, most everyone avoids it, and it’s out of the way of the other buildings.” Arya frowned. “What if she decides to be loud? If your door had been opened that roar would have woken everyone.”

“I’ll ask her to be quiet. She’ll listen to me… I hope.”

Arya gave him a look of admiration, with the smallest hint of jealousy.

“How do you know that she is a girl?” She asked. Jon didn’t know how to answer that either.

“I just know. I knew it in my dreams too. It’s like we have a bond but… I don’t know what it is, she just feels like everything I’ve ever needed. Like a part of me that felt empty isn’t anymore.” Jon shook his head, ignoring the tears forming in his eyes. He looked back down to Lyanys, the grey dragon’s chest lifting up and down with each breath, and smiled. “Think you can get a cage?” Arya nodded. “Okay, I’ll sneak back into the kitchens and get food.”

Arya turned to leave, but stopped just before she reached the door.

“Jon, I overheard a conversation earlier. Between my mother and father.” Arya stopped for a moment, hesitant to continue until he motioned for her to. “Father received a letter from King Robert. The Targaryen’s were found across the sea… I think the King means to kill them.”

Jon stood stunned for a moment before speaking.

“I don’t think the King would be happy if he knew we had a dragon either.”

\-----

Arya

Arya looked out the window in the Maester’s turret and found it was still dark outside, though it wouldn’t last much longer. She had snuck into the castle’s rookery and taken a raven cage, narrowly avoiding disaster after the birds started causing a ruckus. Maester Luwin had started to stir by the time she had closed the door behind herself.

When Arya returned to Jon’s chambers she found him sitting cross-legged on the floor feeding the small dragon bits of pork and beef from the previous night. She looked ravenous, and at one point Arya thought Lyanys had taken his finger along with the chunk of meat. Jon noticed her return and jumped to his feet. Lyanys followed suit, turning to face her.

“You get it?”

“Uh-huh,” She replied proudly. “Though Maester Luwin is probably awake.” Jon gave a short laugh, and Lyanys flapped her wings. Arya handed Jon the cage, just large enough for the dragon to fit in. Though she figured it wouldn’t take Lyanys long to outgrow it.

Jon kneeled on the floor and opened the door to the cage. She thought he seemed a bit unsure about this now that he was doing it.

“Lyanys,” Jon waved his hand, gesturing for her to get into the cage. Lyanys cocked her head to the side curiously, then started to flee to Jon’s bed, climbing up the post. Arya tried to stifle her laughter, but ultimately failed. The sight of an all-powerful dragon running around Jon’s room like a chicken was just too much. She was doubled over, clutching her stomach, while Jon chased her.

“Fine, we’ll play it your way then.” Jon set the cage on the floor and placed a good-sized chunk of pork in it. Arya was still laughing, but watched as he backed away slowly.

“That’s not gonna work Jon. She’s a dragon, not a mouse.” She said, in between bouts of laughter.

“Shh… it’s going to work.” He whispered, finger on his lips. Arya obliged him, patiently looking on as Lyanys jumped from his bed and crept closer to the cage. Jon was ready to pounce, but Lyanys charged with a speed neither of them knew she had, sprinting to the cage and snatching the pork before Jon could even move a muscle. Jon looked to Arya, defeated.

“See?” Arya squeaked out, barely containing herself.

Jon sighed and walked over to the dragon, who was currently climbing up the bed post again. Lyanys climbed to be level with Jon’s head, and turned to him. Now it was a staring contest, until Jon leaned forward and whispered something to her. Arya stepped closer to try to hear, to no avail. Jon took a couple steps back and extended his hand out, and Lyanys conceded. He picked up the cage and carefully placed her inside. Arya felt her face go slack.

“What did you say?” She asked, awestruck.

“I said it would only be for a little while. That I would never hurt her.” Jon smiled, holding the cage in his arms. “We should get her up there before the rest of the castle wakes.”

\---

The steps up the Broken Tower were treacherous, a result of many years of neglect. It took a good while for them to reach the top, as they traversed the stairs in near darkness. Jon didn’t want to attract unwanted attention by carrying a torch. When they finally reached the top of the tower, they had cuts and bruises from knocking into the walls. Light flooded in through the mostly collapsed ceiling, signifying the break of day. The castle would soon be bustling with activity.

Lyanys hadn’t made too much of a fuss on the way there, though she did screech a few times when Jon knocked the cage against something. Vines and other weeds had overrun this part of the tower, and they had to claw and snap their way in.

“There, that looks like a good spot.” Jon said, pointing towards a hearth along the outer rim of the room. He bent down into the hearth and looked up, making sure nothing would fall on the cage. Finding nothing, he nestled the cage in the middle, facing it toward where they had entered. Jon ripped down some vines and set them around the cage, further obscuring it from view.

Jon’s face took on a saddened expression as he got on one knee. Lyanys sensed something was amiss and started to get anxious, bouncing around in her cage. Jon stuck his fingers through the wooden bars, calming her with his touch.

“I’ll come back as soon as I can,” Lyanys started to fuss again, forcing her head into Jon’s fingers. “Please… stay quiet, no one can know you are here.” The dragon silenced, lying down in defeat. “I’ll be back Lyanys, I promise.”

Jon stood and left the room, Arya following close behind, hearing the dragons’ soft whimpers as they descended.


	5. Deserter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned Stark takes Jon, Robb, and Theon to the execution of a Nights Watch deserter. Lyanys learns something new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first attempt at an action sequence and long-ish chapters.  
> Sorry for typos I didn't catch.

Jon

Jon entered the Great Hall later that morning feeling lighter than he had in days, and it was all thanks to his new winged friend. The little dragon had captured his heart from the moment he had laid eyes on her. And he was happy. Luckily for him, Lady Catelyn was praying in the sept as he loaded his plate full of bacon and ham. Nothing was going to dampen his mood today.

He took a seat below the dais with some Stark household guard, who didn’t mind his presence. Arya spotted him from her seat and gave him a wave, which he returned. Neither of them had gotten any sleep, but he felt more alive than he ever had, if such a thing was possible.

His father came in, laying kisses atop Sansa and Arya’s heads, receiving a smile from Sansa and a short grunt from his youngest daughter. He pat his sons on their backs and sat down at his seat at the high table. Jon locked eyes with him for a quick moment, and saw his face falter slightly. Jon returned his gaze to the plate of bacon, which suddenly felt less appetizing. He took out a cloth handkerchief and discreetly put a couple thick pieces in, wrapping it and hiding it in his tunic. It had barely been an hour since he left his dragon in the tower and he already missed her. His good mood sufficiently spoiled, he went to stand, only to be pushed back down into his seat.

“Morning, Snow. Hear the good news?” Came Theon Greyjoy’s voice. Theon sat next to him, facing outwards.

“And what news would that be?” Jon responded irritably, turning to face him.

Theon gave him a half smile.

“Some bannermen have captured a Nights Watch deserter.”

“And how exactly is that good news?”

Theon’s smile widened.

“Lord Stark wants us to go with him to the execution. We finally get to see some blood.” He said, making Jon’s skin crawl.

“When?” Jon inquired.

“After everyone’s eaten we’re to head to the stables and ready our horses.” Jon nodded at that and left the hall.

\---

Jon reached the entrance to the Broken Tower and made sure there was no one around. It was risky of him to come here during the day but he didn’t want to leave without seeing Lyanys again. When he reached the top of the tower he quickly moved to where he had hidden the cage. Jon uncovered the vines he had placed atop it and found his dragon looking up at him.

Jon sat down on a wooden beam that had fallen from the ceiling and took the cloth of bacon from his tunic. Lyanys perked up at the smell of fresh bacon, sticking her head out from the confines of the raven cage.

“Here,” Jon ripped a slice in half and held it out to her. Lyanys scarfed the piece down, causing him to chuckle. “I have to leave, I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.” He said feeding her the rest of the bacon he had brought. “I will make sure Arya comes here if I can’t, alright?” Lyanys looked to him, turned and laid back down.

Jon had to tear himself away, guiltily looking back before leaving for the stables.

\---

“There you are, been looking all over for you Jon.” Robb said, embracing him.

“Sorry, was getting a new sword from Mikken.” Jon replied, tapping his hand on the freshly forged pommel of his sword. Robb turned his back to him and pulled his saddle off the rack. Jon grabbed his as well, following Robb to the horses. Jon threw his saddle over the horses back, tightening the straps and pulling himself on.

Jon rode to the north gate, where he found Theon and his father, along with ten Stark guard gathered. He and Robb cantered up to head of the party. Lord Stark turned to them.

“Jon, Robb, a patrol found a Night’s Watch deserter ten miles north. We should be back by noon.” They nodded in understanding at their father’s words. “Guard! Open the gate!” Jon and the rest of the riding party flooded out the gate.

He slowed and pulled off the side of the road, taking one last look up to the Broken Tower.

\-----

Arya

She watched as her father and brothers rode north from the castle’s battlements. The way the Stark banner flew as they rode on filling her with a sense of pride. Arya heard footsteps behind her and turned, seeing her mother. Her Lady mother placed her hands on the stone, catching a final glimpse of her husband and son on the Kingsroad.

“Your father and brother will return soon Arya, don’t fret.” Arya felt anger start to coarse through her veins at her mother’s purposeful omission of Jon.

“Brothers.” Arya said calmly, though how she had managed that was a mystery.

“What?” Mother asked. Arya looked back to where the party had disappeared on the Kingsroad.

“Jon is my brother too. I’ll never believe him too be anything else.” Without even looking, she could tell her mother was fuming. She heard her storm off, and Arya sighed a breath of relief. She didn’t like arguing with her mother but she couldn’t stand her when it came to Jon.

Arya left for her lessons with Maester Luwin. Afterwards, she was going to the stables. Father had told the stable master to start giving her riding lessons, much to her mother’s ire. ‘A lady shouldn’t spend her time learning to ride a horse.’

\---

“Good morning, child.” Maester Luwin said, giving her a pat on the head. “Take a seat. Today we are going to start learning the history of the Iron Throne.”

Arya gave a laugh at that as she took her seat. Maester Luwin must have heard her because he was eyeing her curiously.

“And what, pray tell, is so funny?” He asked as he sat down across from her.

“Nothing.”

“Arya, I can tell when you are lying you know.”

“No, you can’t.” Arya countered quickly. Luwin held his hands up in mock defeat.

“Very well, let’s begin,” The maester picked a book up from the table and set it down in front of her. “Do you know who founded the Iron Throne?”

Arya smiled.

“Aegon the Conqueror. Along with his sister-wives Visenya and Rhaenys. Aegon rode Balerion the Dread, Visenya rode Vhagar, and Rhaenys rode Meraxes.” Arya finished, leaving the maester stunned.

“Well, well. Someone versed in history. How did you know that?”

“I come to the library when I’m bored. I like to read.” Arya answered, making Luwin smile.

“That’s good, not many people like to read. I suppose we should move on from this lesson since you are seemingly well read on the founding.” Maester Luwin paused. “Hmm… What kingdom was Aegon not able to conquer?”

“Dorne.” She answered. “The dornish were able to hold out against Aegon and every Targaryen since until they joined the other kingdoms through marriage two hundred years after the founding.” Arya’s answer left the maester beaming with pride.

“You’re too smart for your own good.” Luwin joked. “How about _you_ tell me about the history of the Iron Throne.” He said, sliding a book to her.

\---

Arya’s lessons with Maester Luwin had left her throat feeling hoarse after she talked for what felt like hours on Targaryen history. He let her leave early, saying that he was thoroughly impressed with her. She made her way to the stables to begin her lessons. She looked up at the sky and guessed that it was nearly noon. Arya stood outside the stables and called out.

“Hello? Is anyone here?”

A bald man, just shorter than her father walked out from behind one of the stable pens.

“Good day, milady.” He said with a bow. Arya hated being called a lady. “Lord Stark wishes you to begin horse ridin’. An I’m to be your teacher. One moment please.”

The man disappeared behind one of the pens. A moment later he came back with a beautiful young chestnut mare, just small enough for her.

“’Ere you are, milady.” Arya started to stroke her neck, feeling the animal’s strong muscles. “Tis small, like you, milady. She’ll grow alongside you. I’ve no doubt you’ll become as good a rider as your aunt was.” He said with a smile.

“You knew my Aunt Lyanna?” Arya asked, curious.

The bald man nodded in affirmation.

“Oh yes, I knew her milady. My da was the stable master before I, an he would give ‘er lessons. Though Lady Lyanna was a natural, didn’t much need is ‘elp.” The man smiled at the memory. “She was loved by all ‘ere. Some even took to callin ‘er the She-Wolf of the North.” His smile faded. “Tis a shame what happened to ‘er, she didn’t deserve that. Pardon, milady, if I’m prattlin on, I seem to do that a lot now that I’m old.”

“That’s alright. And you needn’t call me milady, Arya is fine.” She said, extending her hand for a shake.

“As you wish. Name’s Darron.” Meeting her hand and giving it a firm shake. “Now let me fetch my mount, an I’ll ‘ave you ridin’ in no time.

\---

The Stablemaster showed her the basics, and after an hour she was already doing laps around the castle’s grounds. Many people she passed stopped to admire her, even calling her Lyanna reborn. Arya spotted her sister and decided to distribute a bit of payback for mocking her sewing ability. She urged her horse to a gallop, the mare’s hooves kicking up mud. Sansa was working on some embroidery project or another, seated at a table only a foot or so from a puddle of water. She never saw it coming.

The horse made a magnificent splash, completely covering the both of them in muddy water. Arya didn’t wait to hear Sansa’s response, gripping the reins tightly and spurring the horse on. She found herself on the other side of the castle in no time. The Broken Tower was in her view and she decided to canter up to it. The sun had already reached its peak, but she had heard no horn to announce her father and brothers return. She then heard a sound that made the blood if her veins run cold. A piercingly loud screech echoed from the tower.

Arya quickly dismounted and scrambled to the top of the tower. She stopped for a moment to catch her breath before calling out.

“Lyanys?”

Hearing no answer, she went over to the hearth, only to find the cage with a hole burned through it. Arya frantically searched the room and found her. She was perched on a small window facing north. Lyanys stretched her wings, she seemed to be deciding whether or not to jump from the tower and fly away. Arya could tell that she was distressed by something, and looked to where she was staring. It was the stretch of road Jon had left on earlier.

\-----

Jon

 

The ride north was pleasant enough, though he could have done without Theon’s constant striking up of conversations on women. The Kingsroad north was flanked by the Wolfswood, making it a very scenic trip. Jon liked the Wolfswood, he found it very peaceful, and it was preferable to being in the confines of a castle.

Jon rode directly behind his father and brother, with Theon at his side. He spotted a Stark banner flying a short distance up the road. He recognized the man instantly. Ser Rodrik Cassel. Winterfell’s master-at-arms. They rode up to him, and Rodrik bowed his head.

“Lord Stark.”

Jon saw his father crack a smile.

“Rodrik, how was the patrol? Not too much trouble I hope.”

“Not at all, milord. Just your usual bandits and the like. Found a deserter from the Nights Watch as well. This way.” Ser Rodrik turned his horse and led them down a trail.

“How’s Jory doing?” Rodrik asked as they reached a clearing.

“Your nephew’s a fine leader. He’s made a great addition to my guard.” Ser Rodrik sniggered at that.

“Who would’ve known? Right young rascal he was growing up.” His father and Rodrik shared a laugh. “Your sons look good as well, Lord Stark. Robb, how’s your sword arm?”

“Getting stronger by the day. Even beat Jon a few times.” Robb said, turning to Jon and shrugging at his peeved expression.

“Good, though I wouldn’t let it get to your head. Jon’s a damn good swordsman.” Rodrik said, nodding his way. “And Theon?”

“Slipped in the mud.” Robb and Jon said in unison, causing laughter to filter throughout the party’s ranks, and Theon’s face to redden.

Another fifteen Stark men were standing in the clearing. They had carved an executioner’s block out of a tree and set it up in the middle of the clearing. Jon, Robb, and Theon dismounted and stood back twenty feet, looking on as two Stark soldiers brought the deserter forward.

He was still dressed in his Nights Watch garb, only it was torn to shreds. He walked forward and stood straighter when he faced Lord Stark.

“I suppose you want to know why I left?” The man said.

“If that’s what you want.” His father replied emotionlessly.

“I was tired of freezing my ass off and watching my friends die. So I left.” The man spat, anger in his eyes. “I’m no coward. Do what you have to.”

His father nodded to the soldiers behind the man and they held him down on the block. Ser Rodrik held out Ice to him, and he unsheathed the massive valyrian steel greatsword. Lord Stark held the sword in both hands, with the tip of the blade touching the earth. The man started to mouth what Jon thought to be a prayer.

“In the name of Robert of the house Baratheon, first of his name. King of the Andals and the First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the realm. I, Eddard, of the house Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, sentence you to die.”

_‘The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword.’_ His father’s words rung in his head as he watched him heave the sword in one motion, easily slicing through the man’s neck. Jon released a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He watched as the deserter’s head rolled across the ground.

Jon tore his eyes away from the man’s head and looked back to his father, who was making his way to them. Lord Stark removed his gloves and looked to the three of them.

“Do you all remember what I said the first time I brought you to an execution?”

“The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword.” Robb began, his father turned to Theon. Theon paused a moment, clearly not expecting to be included.

“If you would take a man’s life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words.” Theon continued, and Jon met his father’s eyes.

“And if you cannot bear to do that, then perhaps the man does not deserve to die.” Jon finished and his father placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Good. Let’s return home.”

\---

They made their way back to the Kingsroad with Ser Rodrik and the patrol. Lord Stark decided to stop at a stream along the way to rest the horses and let them drink. Jon dismounted and led his horse down to the stream, tying the reins around a nearby tree. Jon took off his cloak and set it in his saddle.

“I don’t think its deep enough to swim in Jon!” He heard Robb yell from the bridge above. Jon ignored him, kneeling down and cupping some of the water in his hands. The water was freezing, and he thought he would start to see chunks of ice floating down as well.

Jon took a sip from the water in his hands and splashed the rest across his face. His horse finished drinking and lifted its head up. He watched as its ears perked up. Jon peered across the stream and saw movement in the grass. He continued watching, not taking his eyes off the treeline. A man wearing animal hides showed himself from behind a large tree, with a bow and arrow.

“Wildlings!!!” Jon screamed.

The man with the bow loosed two arrows in quick succession, hitting one of the Stark guards that was walking along the stream. Three more wildlings burst out from the grass, storming across the stream. One was armed with a battleaxe, the other two had crudely made swords. Jon quickly unsheathed his sword, just barely able to block one of the wildling’s strikes, sending the man reeling back into the stream. A Stark guard rushed down to help, killing him with a swift downward slash.

The wildling with the axe ran at him, giving a powerful swing. Jon ducked under the axe and tried to thrust his sword up into the man’s belly. His blade missed its mark, cutting through his hides and nicking his hip. Now off balance, Jon felt the man’s fist connect with his head, above his right eye. The blow knocked him flat on his back. The wilding towered above him, raising his axe and bringing it down. Jon barely rolled out of the way in time, the wildlings axe hitting mere inches from him.

Jon sprung to his feet and slashed the wildlings throat as he pulled his axe from the ground. He quickly surveyed his surroundings. The guard that had helped him was dead, a wildling blade buried in his chest. He heard the sound of swords clashing above him on the bridge, and the archer across the stream was still alive.

Jon charged across the stream, the sound of splashing water getting the archers attention. The man loosed an arrow at him, slicing through his thin tunic and cutting his right shoulder. The wildling cursed, throwing down his bow. He ran down from his perch, unsheathing a dagger. Jon stopped in the ankle-deep water, allowing him to make the first move. He charged Jon, screaming like a madman, his dagger raised above his head. Jon swung his sword in a diagonal strike, cleaving through the wildling’s hand. The man held his arm, trying in vain to stem the bleeding. Jon thrust his blade into his chest and kicked the lifeless body into the stream.

Jon scrambled up to where the archer was and found his father and brother fighting off four more wildlings. They were more skilled than them, but were getting overwhelmed. Jon picked up the archers bow and dug through the grass searching for arrows. He found three that must have slipped from the man’s quiver.

Jon quickly aimed the bow at a wildling going for Robb. He said a silent prayer and fired it. The wildling crumpled to the ground, an arrow in his chest. Robb looked surprised for a moment before taking on another. Jon nocked a second arrow, drawing it back and firing, piercing the wildling’s thigh. Robb took advantage, cutting the wildling’s throat.

Lord Stark blocked a strike with Ice, and brought the massive blade down, splitting the third wildling nearly in two. Jon fired his last arrow, striking the last wildling in the neck, blood spurting from the wound as he fell.

Jon sighed a breath of relief and leaned against the tree. He felt safe until he saw Robb’s face.

“Jon! Behind you!” Robb bellowed.

Jon turned and was met with a colossal fist slamming into his jaw. He immediately tasted blood in his mouth, and the force of the punch sent him tumbling back into the stream. He landed on the archer he had slain earlier. Seeing stars, he blinked, trying to clear his vision. When he did the large wildling stood over him, sword lifting in the air.

“Jon!” Robb dropped his sword from the bridge above, landing with a splash next to him. Jon grabbed it and with lightning speed drove the blade into the wildling’s gut. He released his grip on the sword and the wildling fell to the side, eyes glazing over.

He sat in the cold stream, watching as the water flowed over his legs. Jon slowly felt the adrenaline leave his body and he started to feel the pain in his face and shoulder. Dazed, he saw Robb and his father trudging through the stream to him.

“Seven Hells, Jon, are you alright?” Robb asked, kneeling at his side. Robb placed a hand on his shoulder, causing Jon to wince in pain. Robb had blood all over him, though none of it was his. Lord Stark had one cut along his right arm, and his face was splattered with blood. “Come on, let’s get you up.” Robb and his father helped him to his feet. He stood, all be it groggily, and his father embraced him.

“You saved our lives, Jon. Thank you son.” He said proudly. He pulled away, holding him up by the arms. “Come, let’s find Theon and the others.”

Jon walked unsteadily, using Robb for support until they reached the tree. Jon picked up his sword, keeping it in hand as he searched for survivors. The main attack was centered on the bridge, Jon counted ten dead wildlings and three dead Stark men. The rest of the soldiers had taken their rest further downstream a few hundred feet. Jon followed his father and brother to them.

They soon came upon the scene of another skirmish, Jon counted another thirteen wildlings and six more Stark soldiers dead. Fortunately, Theon nor Rodrik were among them as they came into view a moment later.

“Thank the Gods! Are you alright my lords?” Rodrik asked, genuinely concerned.

“Aye, we’re fine, for the most part. None of our men survived that side of the bridge.” Lord Stark said solemnly. “It was Jon that saved us though. Would have been much worse if not for him.” Ser Rodrik nodded.

“I’ll want to hear it for myself when we get back to Winterfell.” Ser Rodrik said. “I’m going to start preparing our dead, you boys catch your breath.”

Lord Stark and Ser Rodrik left them and Theon went to stand at Jon’s side.

“You just had to say it Theon.” Jon said, nudging him with his elbow.

“What?”

“Oh, don’t remember? This morning, _‘Finally get to see some blood’_. Seven fucking hells…” Jon replied, bringing his hand up to touch the gash over his right eye.

\-----

Arya

Arya heard a horn blast from the north gate, sounding her father and brothers return, and ran to the battlements. Everyone in Winterfell had been on edge for the last two hours, waiting for their lord to return. Arya peered over the stone wall to try and catch a glimpse of them. What she saw made her feel breathless as she sprinted to meet them at the gate.

“Arya!”

She spun around to see her mother storming towards her.

“You should wait inside, with your sister.” Her mother said, now standing in front of her.

“No, I need to know.” Arya replied, despite the lump in her throat. Her mother held her hand as she turned back to face the gate.

After what felt like an eternity, the gate opened, revealing her father and brothers. Arya gasped when she saw Jon. He had a deep gash over his right eye, a cut on his shoulder, and a bruise forming on his jaw. He had definitely received the worst of it, as her father and Robb seemed unscathed for the most part. The three of them dismounted with some difficulty.

Her mother released her hand, drawing her father and Robb into an embrace. Arya threw herself into Jon’s arms, causing him to nearly topple over. Jon steadied himself and wrapped his arms around her, releasing her after a long moment.

“What happened Ned?” Her mother asked, pulling away from her husband and son.

“Wildlings. A lot of them.” Father answered, causing her mother’s face to contort with concern. “We’re fine, Cat. Just need Luwin to patch us up. Jon, you go now, get that head of yours looked at.”

Arya watched her mother’s face become emotionless as she looked to Jon, and her father saw it too.

“I’ll have none of that, Cat, no longer.” Her father said angrily, she had never seen him angry. “He saved my life, and our son’s life. We would be dead if not for him.”

Her father motioned for Jon to leave and see his wounds tended to. He did so with a shocked expression coloring his bloodstained features. Her mother looked down at the ground ashamedly, cheeks reddening. Robb walked to her side and grabbed her by the arm.

“Come on.” He said quietly, pulling her away to give their parents privacy.

\---

Arya gave Jon’s chamber door a knock, hoping that he was still awake. She wanted him to get some rest after what happened, and with what Robb had told her, it was quite the ordeal.

“Jon, it’s Arya. Are you awake?”

Arya heard nothing but silence and pushed the door open. She looked to the bed and found it empty. He wasn’t in his room. Arya quickly left his chambers and made her way to the only other place he could be. The Broken Tower.

\---

Arya reached the tower with some difficulty, as her father had doubled the patrols around the castle after the events of the day. She climbed the steps and saw a faint orange glow emanating at the top. Moonlight filtered in through the ceiling and Arya saw Jon sitting across from Lyanys, a piece of rubble between them. Jon set a chunk of raw meat on the stone.

“Fire.” He commanded.

Lyanys reared her head back, opened her jaws, and let loose a weak stream of fire on the meat. She then lunged forward and swallowed the piece whole.

“Hey.” Arya said, announcing her presence.

Jon nearly jumped out of his skin. Arya noticed he had a bandage wrapped around his forehead, and his face was bruised and swollen.

“Hi.” Jon said weakly.

“How long have you been up here?”

“Not too long. Came to see her.” Jon answered, pointing towards the grey and crimson dragon.

“She almost jumped from the tower to come after you.” Arya said, matter-of-factly.

Jon shifted to look at her.

“She did what?”

Arya recited to him how she heard the dragon screech, and how she found her perched on the windowsill. Jon appeared astounded.

“I knew we had a bond… but I didn’t think it was that strong.” Jon winced from the pain in his jaw. “Did anyone else hear her?”

“I don’t know, I made a pretty good distraction beforehand.”

Jon nodded.

“Well, let’s hope not.” Jon sighed. “It’s amazing, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“She was literally born yesterday. And already breathes fire.”

Lyanys moved closer to Jon and started to climb his leg, resting upon his lap. Jon stroked over the dragon’s scales, eliciting a purring sound.

“She won’t be like this forever, you know. One day she’ll be massive, and we won’t be able to keep her a secret anymore.”

Jon’s face saddened as he watched Lyanys start to fall asleep on his lap.

“I know. And when that day comes, she will be ready. As will I.”


	6. Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon's true parentage is revealed by Ned Stark. Arya tries to comfort him.

Jon

Over a year had passed since the events on the Kingsroad, and Jon and Arya were finding it harder than ever to keep Lyanys a secret. Lyanys still kept to the Broken Tower, though they would be fools to think that she didn’t wander the woods around Winterfell in the nights. She had become the size of a large dog, and her wingspan was nearly twice as long as his arms.

He was also starting to have trouble keeping her fed. Jon was certain that the castle’s cooks were starting to wonder where their stores of meat were going. He was having to sneak in whole hams, steaks, and chickens, just to keep her satiated. It was getting exhausting. Not to mention the fact that she liked discarding the charred bones from the tower, forcing Jon to have to bury them. His penance for keeping her cooped up during the day, he supposed.

He had begun training her as best he could from the day she first breathed fire. Lyanys had taken to it great, he thought at least. She understood his commands in the common tongue, following them with ease. Jon had asked Arya once to try giving her a command, only to have Lyanys look to him for approval, much to Arya’s dismay.

Jon practiced with sword most of the day, only ever stopping to receive lessons from Maester Luwin. He had gotten much better since the battle on the Kingsroad, having not lost a duel with Robb or Theon since. That’s where he was now, in the courtyard with the late afternoon sun on his back, beating a defenseless practice dummy with a sparring sword. He found sword fighting a good distraction from daily life at Winterfell, and it provided him with an outlet for his anger and frustration. Even after his father’s words to Lady Catelyn and tales of his heroics became common knowledge, he was still treated with disdain by many. He had expected as much, but a part of him had hoped things would have changed.

And soon after Lyanys had been born, Jon had once again started to wonder about his mother. He had always wanted to know, but now it just kept nagging at him. He and Arya agreed that it was obvious that he carried the blood of Old Valyria in his veins, seeing as how he was able to hatch and train a dragon. But how much? Arya had quietly dug for information on descendants of those with valyrian blood, hoping that it would match timelines with their father’s march during the rebellion. They came up with nothing. His mother could easily have been any number of unknown Targaryen bastards, or bastards of cadet branches, such as the Baratheon’s and Velaryon’s, each having a piece of Old Valyria in their lines.

He put every bit of frustration he had into one final strike on the dummy, causing his arm to ache from the impact.

“Jon!”

He turned to find Arya looking at him concernedly. Jon stuck the sword in the dirt.

“What was that about?” She asked.

“Nothing.”

Arya snorted.

“It’s never nothing with you Jon.” She quickly made sure no one was within earshot. “You hatched a bloody dragon remember?”

He gave a humorless laugh and crossed his arms.

“Hard to forget, that. Especially since I’m the one dragging her dinner up there every night.”

“It was your idea to stuff her in that tower. So, what’s wrong?”

“Just… wondering about my mother again.” He said, looking to his feet.

“You should ask father.”

Jon looked to her, defeated.

“I’ve already tried that, he won’t tell me.”

Arya walked closer and put her hand on his upper arm.

“Then you tell him that you know you carry valyrian blood.” Jon went to speak but she cut him off. “Tell him that you have been searching, and it might be different this time. But… don’t tell him you have a dragon, that’s the last thing I need today.”

Jon laughed and embraced his little sister.

“Thank you, Arya. I’d be lost without you.”

“I know. Come on, let’s eat. I’m starving.”

\---

Jon didn’t eat much of anything at dinner, he was afraid that if he did it would come back up when he went to speak with his father. Theon tried to make conversation with him throughout dinner, but his mind was elsewhere, and he soon left to find more talkative company.

Lady Catelyn escorted her daughters from the hall when they finished, he and Arya sharing a final glance before leaving. He stood from the table as his father finished his ale, and steeled himself as he walked up to the dais. He took one last breath before looking to Lord Stark.

“Father, may we speak in private?” Jon asked, heart racing uncontrollably.

Robb gave Jon a confused glance before standing to escort Bran and Rickon to their chambers. Lord Stark sat back in his seat, tapping the armrests, pondering his request.

“Come with me to my solar.”

\---

The walk to his father’s solar was silent, even more so when they entered, neither of them wanting to break the silence. His father went to stand behind his desk, and crossed his arms.

“What did you wish to speak about, Jon?”

Jon shifted in place, nervously wringing his hands together.

“My mother.” He answered, finally finding his voice.

“Jon- “

“I know that she was a Valyrian descendant.” Jon interrupted and he saw his father’s face fall, sadness taking root in his features.

Jon walked to his desk and held his hand over a candle. He saw his father move to stop him.

“Don’t.” Jon said forcefully.

Jon held his hand over the flame, feeling nothing but warmth on his palm. He let his father examine his hand after a moment, fear in his eyes, only to find him unharmed. He stepped back, gulping audibly before looking him in the eye. He opened his mouth to speak, but didn’t seem to be able to find the words.

“Father?”

That brought him back, and his eyes glistened in the candlelight.

“Jon… I’m sorry.” He paused, trying to collect himself. “I’m not your father.”

Jon froze in shock as he registered Lord Stark’s words. He backed up, turning away from him.

“Jon, wait!”

“Who am I?” Jon asked, pain emanating from each syllable.

Silence washed over them, only the sound of wind breaking against the castle’s walls breaking it.

“Who am I?!” He asked again, turning back to look into his eyes. Jon saw guilt in them, and sweat started to form on his face. As it had all those years ago in the crypts.

“I made a promise… to your mother that I would protect you.”

“Why would I need protecting? Who was she? Is she alive?” Jon asked, trying to keep from collapsing.

Lord Stark’s face became grief stricken, and he seemed hesitant to answer.

“Please… I need to know.”

A single tear fell from his eye.

“Your mother was my sister, Lyanna.” Jon forced himself to remain standing. “And your father was Rhaegar Targaryen. He never kidnapped or raped her, they were married, and you were the result of that.”

Tears flowed freely down Jon’s face as he understood the weight of his uncle’s words. He was struggling to keep himself together as well.

“You were born Aegon Targaryen,” Lord Stark said, voice shaking. “You are the trueborn heir to the Iron Throne.”

Jon felt sick to his stomach. He made for the door, ignoring his uncle’s pleas for him to stay.

\-----

Arya

 

Arya laid down in her bed and stared up at the ceiling, torn over Jon. She wanted more than anything for him to know who his mother was, but she also knew that it would more than likely cause him more pain than not knowing would.

She sat up, knowing that sleep wouldn’t come for her until she talked to Jon. Heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway and continued on past her chamber door. Arya got up from her bed and cracked open the door. She caught a short glance of Jon disappearing down a hallway that led outside. Arya quickly threw on a warm cloak and followed him, keeping her distance for now.

He wasn’t heading to the Broken Tower, that she was certain of. After following him through the courtyard, she watched as he turned and descended into the crypts.

\---

She quietly made her way down the steps, and peered out, finding Jon. He was sitting with his back to the wall, across from aunt Lyanna. Arya came around the corner and heard his sobs as she walked closer.

“Jon?” She said softly, announcing her presence.

He looked up to her, then to Lyanna’s statue.

“She’s been here the whole time.”

Arya felt her body go numb. She sat down next to him, hoping that she could provide some comfort.

“I was never a bastard. They were married, her and Rhaegar.” Jon’s voice cracked with emotion.

Her mind started to race, and she felt tears prickle her eyes.

“So that means- “

“I’m the heir. My real name is Aegon Targaryen.” Jon gave a painfully forced laugh. “All this time… the only thing I ever wanted was to be a Stark… to be one of you.”

Arya looped her arm through his, making him face her.

“You are one of us.”

“I’m not.” He said, crushed.

“You are.” Arya gripped his arm tighter. “I don’t care who your parents are. You will always be my brother Jon.”

Jon gave her a weak smile.

“I love you, Arya.”

“I love you too.” She said, returning his smile.

Arya held him for a few more moments before the silence of the crypts started to irritate her.

“So… Aegon huh? They couldn’t have chosen a more unique name?” She joked, elbowing him in the ribs.

Jon chuckled.

“Pretty unimaginative, I have to say.” Jon turned serious again. “What do you think I should do? The Targaryen’s across the sea are my family. Viserys and… Daenerys.”

“I don’t know. But whatever you decide to do, it should wait until Lyanys is bigger. That way she can protect you.” Arya replied, though the thought of him leaving was painful.

“It’s strange. I named her after my mother, it’s like it was…”

“Meant to be?”

“Aye.” Jon rubbed at his temples. “It needn’t have been. My parents caused the rebellion, all those people died- “

“None of that is your fault, The Mad King caused the rebellion.” She said, almost angrily.

“Even so I… I need some time alone.” Jon released her arm and stood. “You should go, Lord Stark’s probably looking for me.”

Arya frowned as she watched him stand in front of Lyanna’s statue. She walked to the exit, looking back one last time to see Jon touch his hand to the cold stone of her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if the time jump is a bit jarring, I need to get Lyanys bigger so she can start dusting fools.


	7. A Mother's Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned has a long overdue conversation with Jon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably OOC, sorry.

Eddard Stark

“Jon, wait!”

Lord Eddard Stark watched helplessly as his nephew fled from his solar with tears in his eyes. He slumped into his chair with his head in his hands. He had hoped this day would never come, even praying to the Old Gods to let it be so. They had not heard them it seemed.

His thoughts turned to his sister. He had done as she asked, forsaking his honor and forcing pain upon his lady wife. He often wondered if Lyanna would have wanted him to tell her son the truth, but he always cast that thought aside, not wanting to put her boy in danger.

Jon had her heart, that much he was sure of. Even in the face of his lie, Jon was always honorable and kind. And he had her eyes. Eyes that would always bring him sadness when he looked in them.

_Promise me Ned…_

_Promise me…_

“Ned? What’s wrong?” He looked up and found his lady wife standing at the door.

Ned held back the slew of emotions that were coursing throughout his body, and offered the seat across from him to his wife. She sat down, her face contorted in confusion. This was not his day. He cleared his throat.

“Cat… There is something I have to tell you… Something that won’t be easy to hear.”

She sat motionless, her attention rapt. Ned sighed, and decided to spill everything.

“Jon’s not my son, he is my sister’s son.” He watched as she put the pieces together, her face paling in shock. “Lyanna was never kidnapped or raped, she was married to Rhaegar. His true name is Aegon, and I promised my sister that I would protect him from Robert.”

Catelyn stiffened in the chair, her gaze full of anger.

“Why did you never tell me?” She said, barely controlling her fury.

“Because it was safer. If you knew you would have treated the boy differently.”

Her ire faded somewhat, replaced with a twinge of guilt and sadness.

“Why tell me now Ned? What’s changed?”

“He knows, Cat.”

She stood and started to nervously pace his solar.

“Ned… you have to send the boy away.”

“No,” He immediately shot back. “I won’t be sending him anywhere.”

“And what of our children Ned? What do you think Robert will do if he finds out?!” She shouted, becoming hysterical.

He stayed silent, allowing his wife a moment to calm herself. She returned to the chair, breathing heavily, and shook her head.

“Gods Ned…” She muttered under her breath.

“I’m sorry Cat.”

She looked to him with eyes brimming with tears.

“No, I’m the one whose sorry. I’ve hated that boy since the day you brought him here, another woman’s son. I hated a motherless child, and all this time he wasn’t even yours. I’ll never forgive myself for that.”

“Cat- “

“Stop,” She said, cutting him off. “Family, Duty, Honor. Those are my house words. You did what you had to, casting aside your honor to protect your family.”

Catelyn paused, sighing deeply.

“This is dangerous Ned, we need to be careful.”

“I know.” He said, nodding his agreement.

“You need to speak with him, and soon.”

“I will. He needs time.”

She stood and started to walk towards the door.

“As do I.”

The door slammed shut behind her, leaving him sitting in silence, with only the demons of the past keeping him company.

\---

Ned Stark hadn’t slept a wink at all in the night, too preoccupied with what he was going to say to Jon. He didn’t even know if Jon would want to hear what he had to say, but he knew he had to try.

He watched as the sky lightened from his solar and worked up the courage to find Jon, throwing on his cloak and sword belt. He opened the door to his solar and walked down the dimly lit corridors of the keep, finding Jon’s chambers. He knocked and waited, no answer. He pushed open the door and tentatively stepped in. It was cold, and empty. His eyes directed him to the hearth, cracked and warped. He moved his hand over it, intrigued. It would have taken much more than a simple fire to do that.

He left, having a good idea of where to find him.

\---

Ned descended into the crypts, the familiar chill burrowing its way into his bones. He came down here when he could to light candles for his father, brother, and sister. It always left him feeling bitter and pained, always making him wonder what could have been.

He walked past the statues of his ancestors, spotting light coming from where Lyanna had been placed. As his sight adjusted and he came closer, he found him, curled up at the foot of her statue. The sight alone made his eyes full with guilty tears.

Ned kneeled and put his hand to Jon’s shoulder, causing him to stir. His eyes fluttered open and he pushed himself up into a sitting position. Jon looked around in confusion for a moment, before looking to him and remembering everything. Jon closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Would you ever have told me?” Jon asked, without any hint of pain or anger.

Ned rose to his feet and looked at his sister’s statue, remembering the promise he made her as she died.

“I don’t know.” He answered honestly, looking his nephew in the eyes as he did.

Jon nodded, bringing his knees to his chest and returning his gaze to floor.

“I am truly sorry Jon.”

He didn’t respond, just stared ahead. Ned shifted nervously, wondering if he should let him be. He had almost left when Jon found his voice.

“What was she like?”

Ned saw him shiver, and he shed his cloak and covered him with it.

Ned sat down at his nephew’s side and recounted tales from his childhood before he was fostered at the Eyrie, leaving the both of them with tears in their eyes by the time he was finished.

“She had a good heart, you both have that.”

Jon smiled slightly, and hesitated before asking his next question.

“And my father?”

Ned’s face twitched at the mention of Rhaegar, which sent a look of dejection over Jon’s face.

“I never truly met your father, but I saw him at the tourney at Harrenhal. I was there when Rhaegar placed the crown of winter roses in your mother’s lap.” He paused, and seeing he had Jon’s full attention he continued. “My father Rickard, had betrothed Lyanna to Robert Baratheon. She confessed to me her reluctance to marry him, believing Robert would never stay true to her. The year after the tourney, Rhaegar and Lyanna eloped in secret, leading many to believe she was kidnapped.”

Jon’s face fell, his mind most likely swamped with the same questions that haunted him. A draft swept its way through the corridor, causing Jon to wrap the cloak tighter against his body. Ned swallowed, preparing himself for what was to come.

“After Robert won against Rhaegar on the Trident, he sent me to King’s Landing. When I arrived, the Lannister’s had already sacked the city, and killed Elia Martell and her children. Your half brother and sister.” His eyes flashed with the image of the dead lining the streets of the capital. “Robert arrived soon after, and I demanded justice for the murders. And when he defended their actions, I knew that his hatred had changed him.”

Jon shivered again, though this time it wasn’t from the cold.

“I soon learned where Lyanna was being held, and I rode for Dorne with my most trusted of bannermen. The Tower of Joy, they called it. But it was nothing of the sort. You’ve been told that I defeated Ser Arthur Dayne, but that was a lie as well. He disarmed me, but before he could kill me, Howland Reed stabbed him in the neck. I picked up Dawn and cut Ser Arthur down.”

His nephew looked stunned at his confession. Ned swallowed, staring aimlessly at the wall.

“I got to the top, and found her in a bed soaked with blood. I knelt at her side begging her handmaidens to help, but Lyanna stopped me.” Tears streamed down his face in droves. He had never said it aloud. “’His name is Aegon Targaryen, you have to protect him. Promise me Ned. Promise me.’”

His body shook as he tried to hold himself together.

“So, I did. I called you Jon. My son. And that was that.”

He closed his eyes, a weight finally lifting from his chest.

“I… killed…” Jon’s voice faltered.

“No. You didn’t.” Ned said sternly, turning to look him in the eyes. “She loved you. And she would be proud of the man you are becoming.”

Jon struggled to speak, but soon found his voice.

“How do you know?”

Ned smiled.

“Because I am.”

\-----

Jon

He stood and watched as Lord Stark lit a candle and placed it in his mother’s hand. Jon thought that learning who his mother was would give him some form of closure, but it instead left him feeling nothing but emptiness and pain. He had once hoped that his father would tell him and he would leave and find her, like in the stories Sansa loved. But it was nothing but a dream, and he learned that life isn’t like the stories. The world prevented him from having a mother, his true father is dead, and the man he called father had lied to him his entire life. But that lie had allowed him to live, and he supposed that, in the end, that’s all his parents wanted. For him to live.

“Thank you, Lord Stark. For telling me.”

“You needn’t thank me Jon.” He said, still focused on Lyanna’s statue. “I decided long ago that I would never tell a soul the truth. But I often wondered if she wanted you to know.” He turned to him then, his face glowing in the candlelight. “I hope one day you’ll forgive me.”

Jon nodded and Lord Stark looked back to the statue. Jon’s heart froze in his chest as his uncle squeezed his way behind the stone and pushed against the wall. It gave without much effort by him, and Jon watched him stiffen in confusion.

“It’s gone.” He said, barely audibly.

“I know.”

Lord Stark backed out and stood before him, a question forming at his lips.

“I found it over a year ago, accidentally.”

“Oh, well… It was a gift from your father. But there is something else.” He said, leaning down and sliding his hand along the base of the statue.

Jon swallowed down the lump in his throat as he heard a click. His uncle pulled out a small box, the size of his palm. He held it out to him, and he took it and slowly opened it. Inside was a brooch, and the design was astounding. The three-headed dragon of house Targaryen and the snarling direwolf of house Stark were joined together, set in gold. The dragons were made from a polished dark red stone, and the direwolf was rough, the grey stone made to look weathered. Rhaegar’s signature rubies were set in the dragons’ eyes, and the direwolf had a single gem in its eye, the color of a winter rose.

“Your mother never wanted anyone to know, but she loved to make jewelry. I searched the tower before I left and found that.” Lord Stark said.

Jon smiled as he moved his fingers over his mother’s work.

“It’s beautiful, thank you.” Jon didn’t know what else to say, and carefully placed the brooch back inside the box.

“Your welcome, Jon. Let’s get out of here, hmm?”

\---

They left the crypts and went straight for the godswood, the sunlight stinging his eyes. The serenity of the wood eased the tension in his body from his night in the crypts. They stopped when they reached the weirwood tree.

“I prayed to the Old Gods, hoping that they could prevent you from knowing the truth, because I know the kind of danger this information holds. What Robert would do to get to you… But they saw fit for you to find out.” He reached out and touched one of the tree’s blood-red leaves. “There is a man at Castle Black, your great-great uncle. Aemon Targaryen.”

Jon’s eyes widened.

“He has served the Nights Watch as a maester since before the rebellion, and he is the last of your father’s family in Westeros.”

Jon thought about it, and he wanted to know more about his father’s family, but it was likely that he would be gone for months.

“You don’t have to leave, Jon.” Lord Stark said, noticing his hesitation.

He made his decision.

“I’ll go. I want to meet him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brooch is based off of this image.  
> https://davebaker.deviantart.com/art/Targaryen-Stark-Tattoo-Design-432885406


	8. Shadow Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon says his goodbyes and leaves for Castle Black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this chapter is all over the place, I'm still new to this writing thing.  
> Hope y'all still like.

Jon

Jon tossed and turned in his bed all throughout the night, his mind a jumble. Lord Stark had prepared a retinue of ten Stark guard to accompany him to the Wall, and they were set to leave come morning. His uncle had also sent a raven ahead, informing Lord Commander Jeor Mormont of his departure, and the reason behind it.

The Lord Commander had been requesting for some time now that an emissary be sent to inspect the condition of the castle, and Jon was to be the one to do so. It was clever, it made sense that the Lord of Winterfell would send his bastard to undertake a less than desirable task. Lord Stark had also informed him that Benjen knew the truth of his parentage, and would help him when he arrived.

Jon rolled onto his side, reached under his bed, and retrieved the box that held his mother’s brooch. He opened the box and took the jewel in hand. Moonlight poured in from his window, causing the gems to shimmer and sparkle. He traced the grooves of the dragon heads with his forefinger, admiring the detail that his mother had put into her work. The gleam of the rubies reminding him of his own dragon.

He had decided to take Lyanys with him. It had been getting more and more dangerous for Lyanys as she continued to grow. Now over one year old, she was quickly outgrowing her nest in the Broken Tower, and rumors were spreading throughout the castle of sightings of a large flying creature. Most assumed it to be a raven, owl, or just an oversized bat. But some of the more imaginative children had taken to calling it the Shadow Dragon, on account of the silhouette she casts. Jon was certain that none knew the truth, but he wasn’t going to leave her and risk discovery, nor did he wish to be parted from her.

Jon placed the brooch back inside its box and put it back under his bed. He slowly got up and dressed, not wanting to wake anyone as he snuck out of his room, intent on seeing his dragon.

\---

Jon reached the top of the tower and found it empty, besides a small number of charred animal skulls. He sat down upon the large stone he had once used to feed her. Jon sighed, missing the days where he could feed her by hand, and when she would fall asleep on his lap.

Thin clouds started to obscure the moon, which had now reached its peak in the sky. Light filtered in through the ceiling, making the dust in the air visible.

Jon, feeling a tad bit impatient, decided to try something he had been working on. Ever since Arya had told him what Lyanys had done, or rather thought of doing, during the skirmish on the Kingsroad, he knew that they had a strong bond. Jon had tried calling her using only his mind, with limited success. It had only worked once so far, though he wasn’t actually sure if she was responding to his call or just returning for the night.

Jon relaxed his body atop the stone, clearing all thoughts from his mind except one. A grey and crimson dragon with blood-red eyes. Jon breathed in and slowly exhaled, silently mouthing her name as he did.

_‘Lyanys.’_

He opened his eyes, allowing himself to return to the present. Jon sat in silence, waiting for any sign of a response. The room darkened as a shadow was cast by moonlight. Jon looked up and saw her, his Shadow Dragon.

Lyanys circled in the sky, decreasing in height with every loop. She landed atop the tower silently, barely making a sound, save for the flapping of her wings. Her head dropped down from the ceiling, surveying her nest. Spotting him, Lyanys dropped into the room, giving one flap of her wings so as to land quietly.

“Lya- “ The dragon lunged at him, trampling her way through rubble to do so. Her head slammed into his chest, sending him to the floor. He laughed as he fell. “I’m happy to see you too.”

He pushed himself into a sitting position, leaning against a collapsed beam. Jon smiled as he ran his hand over the scales and horns of her head. She no longer purred like she did when she was small. It was starting to sound like the rumble he had heard in his dreams, and it terrified him. She herself didn’t scare him, but it was the fact that his dream might have truly been the future. Jon could only see one reason why he would leave Winterfell and go south. War.

He was shaken from his thoughts as Lyanys nudged her head against his cheek, the scales scratching his skin. Jon stroked her neck one last time before clearing his throat to speak.

“I’m leaving, Lyanys,” She cocked her head sideways and exhaled a puff of smoke in anger, reminding him of what happened the last time he left. “And you’re coming with me.”

Her expression immediately shifted to one of sheer joy as she sat on her haunches and stretched her wings. Jon smiled as she gave a short growl. Once she calmed Lyanys laid at his side, head level with his.

“We’re going to the Wall, far north of here. I found out who my parents were, and I’m going to meet a relative.” Lyanys gave a slight tilt of her head in affirmation. “I leave come morning, and you leave at night, like you always have. It’s going to be a long trip, so you’ll need to hunt for your food.” Jon smiled, and she growled playfully at the insinuation that she couldn’t keep herself fed.

Jon relented, not wanting to get on her bad side. He slowly stood, and she watched his every move.

“I’ll see you soon.”

\---

Jon guided his horse from the stables, making his way to the north gate. He had been dreading saying goodbye to his family since he had decided to leave, especially to Arya. He was sure that she would be the hardest to say it to, after everything. But it wasn’t going to be forever, just a couple months at most.

His family was gathered in the courtyard to see him off, even Lady Catelyn was in attendance. Lord Stark was deep in conversation with Jory Cassel, the most trusted of his household guard. Jon handed the reins of his horse to one of the Stark men and started with his goodbyes. He walked to Bran who stood at Robb’s side. Jon ruffled the boy’s hair, causing him to giggle.

“Farewell Bran.”

His cousin beckoned him to lean closer and he obliged him. Bran cupped his hands and whispered in his ear.

“Bring me back something from the Wall.” Jon smiled, and whispered back.

“I will, little brother.”

He moved to Robb, who had a look of sadness, and perhaps jealousy on his face.

“Goodbye brother.” Robb said, embracing him.

“I’ll be back before you know it Robb.”

“I hope so. I don’t want to be stuck alone with Theon for the rest of my days.” They both shared a laugh and parted.

Arya was next, and took every ounce of willpower he had to not break down on the spot. She seemed to be struggling too, as tears filled her eyes. She leapt into his arms as soon as he stood flush with her.

“Come back soon, Jon.”

“I will, I promise.” Arya gave him one last squeeze before she was back on solid ground. “I’m going to miss you.”

A single tear escaped her eye and she quickly wiped it away.

“I’ll miss you too.”

Jon had to tear himself away from Arya to continue. Sansa smiled at him and nodded.

“Farewell Jon. Stay safe.” Jon returned her smile, her words seeming genuine.

Lady Catelyn’s face shifted between shades of white and red, obviously nervous. Jon wasn’t out for revenge, he understood why she had hated him. And as angry as that made him feel, if things were going to change he would have to make peace with it.

“Lady Stark.” Jon said politely, with a bow.

She eased a bit, and seemed thankful for his action, even giving him the beginnings of a smile. Little Rickon stood at her side, hand in hand.

“Bye Jon!” Rickon said with a wave. Jon grinned at him, kneeling to give him a short hug.

He stood and turned to face Lord Stark. His uncle hesitated a moment, sharing a quick look with his wife, before taking his arm and leading him away from the others. They walked out of earshot and Lord Stark placed his hand on his shoulder.

“You can still stay. You don’t have to leave.” He said, almost desperately.

“I know… But I want to do this.” Jon said with finality.

Lord Starks face fell, and his hand returned to his side.

“Winterfell is your home, Jon. You may not have my name, but you have my blood. You’ll always be welcome here.”

Jon looked to his feet, not wanting his uncle to see the emotion on his face.

“Stay out of trouble, and come back safe.” His uncle smiled and patted him on the arm. He lingered a moment before walking back towards his family.

“Father.” Jon called out before he got too far. Lord Stark turned to him with a surprised expression. “I forgive you.”

His uncle smiled sadly, left speechless by his declaration. Jon gave him a final nod, assuring him that he meant it.

Jon walked over to his horse, taking the reins back from the Stark guard, and mounted. Lord Stark shared a final word with Jory.

“Don’t worry my lord, he is safe with us.”

“It’s my duty to worry.” Lord Stark said with a laugh. “Stay safe Jory.”

Lord Stark returned to his wife’s side, and his family looked on. Jory mounted the horse next to him and turned to Jon.

“Come, let’s get a move on.”

They spurred their horses on, galloping out of the courtyard, starting the journey to the Wall.

\---

The weeks following their departure were rough, the road north unforgiving. Jory said they were getting close, and Jon could feel it as well, the cold intensifying as the days dragged along.

He and Jory had gotten along well, often speaking over a fire as they rested their horses during the night. They spoke of swordsmanship mostly, Jory had fought during the Greyjoy rebellion and he told the story of how he fought side by side with Jamie Lannister, and watched as Thoros of Myr charged through the breach on Pyke, burning sword in hand. Jon recounted his own tale of fighting wildlings, which Jory listened to attentively. They had also sparred a fair bit after conversation became dull. Jory gave him a few tips on footwork, and said he made for a proper swordsman.

He caught glimpses of Lyanys on the trip north, but she kept her distance from camp. Jon was only able to sneak off once to find her as the guards woke in shifts to patrol the camp and keep watch for bandits. The one time he did meet her would forever be etched in his memory. Lyanys actually looked… happy. She was enjoying her newfound freedom, and making the most of it. He could tell that all of the flying she was doing was making her stronger.

Jon shifted under the thick layers of blankets, watching as snow slowly fell from the brightening sky. A snowflake landed on the blankets and he watched as it melted, trying not to think about the upcoming meeting with Aemon. If they made good time today they would reach Castle Black by supper.

Jon rose from the sparse warmth of his makeshift bed, quickly wrapping himself with a thick cloak. He warmed his hands over the smoldering remains of the previous night’s fire, shaking away the nervous thoughts rattling around in his mind.

\---

“Jon, still with us lad?” Jory asked concernedly.

Jon blinked open his eyes and found himself leaning forward in the saddle. He quickly righted himself.

“Aye, tired is all.” He responded with a silent yawn.

Jory moved in his saddle and groaned, likely just as exhausted as he was.

“We’re almost there, and then we can all have our fill of Nights Watch ale.” Jory said, trying to lighten spirits.

“Ha! Horse piss most like.” One of the Stark men called out.

“It can taste like horse piss for all I care, as long as there’s a lot of it.” Another said, causing a short laugh to escape him.

“Aye, I agree…” Jory stopped himself mid-sentence, urging his horse further up the path. “Jon, come here!”

Jon pushed his tired horse up to where Jory was.

“What-“ Jon felt his face go slack when he directed his eyes to what Jory was looking at.

He had read about the Wall and heard stories from Benjen when he would visit Winterfell, but nothing could have prepared him for the true scale of it. The Wall was massive, reaching as far as he could see in either direction. Evening sunlight glinted off the ice at the top, creating quite the spectacle. He could see the smoke billowing from Castle Black, it was just within reach.

“Come on, we’ll make it before nightfall.”

\---

A man standing on the battlements sounded a horn as they rode up to the gates, the blast echoing around the hills.

“Riders approaching!” Jon watched as the man shifted his weight nervously. “Who are ya? State your business.”

Jon sat up straight in the saddle.

“Jon Snow, sent by the Warden of the North to inspect the castle.” Jon replied.

The man turned on his heels and yelled below.

“Open the gate!”

Jon rode into the courtyard, observing the sorry state of the castle. It truly looked ancient. He dismounted, tying the reins around the nearest post. A crowd of men had gathered, drawn to the commotion, and Jon spotted a familiar face coming his way.

“Uncle Benjen.” Jon said, embracing the man.

“Jon, it’s good to see you. Gods you’ve gotten big since I saw you last.” Benjen said, gripping him by the arms. “Come, you look tired. We’ll get some food in your belly and I’ll have chambers prepared for you.”

Jon followed his uncle to the kitchens, Jory and the others quick behind them. He took one last look at the Wall, the sheer height making him dizzy. They walked into the hall, the Stark soldiers quickly finding the ale they had been dreaming about for the past five hours. Jon sat down at a table towards the back, far enough away so the soldiers wouldn’t overhear his conversation.

Benjen walked over with two bowls, and placed one in front of him. Jon thought he was hungry enough to eat anything, but this bowl of soup was giving him second thoughts. Benjen noticed his uneasiness and gave a low chuckle.

“You eat it more for the heat than the taste.” Benjen said, taking a long slurp from his bowl.

Jon put it to his lips and drank, ignoring the taste. A mild heat made its way throughout his body, and Jon shivered away the last of the cold he felt. Benjen smiled at him.

“Better?”

“Aye.” Jon answered. He looked towards the Stark soldiers, watching as they guzzled down the ale, and turned back to his uncle. “Uncle Benjen, I’m not here to inspect the castle.”

Benjen looked puzzled.

“Then why did Ned send you?”

“He didn’t send me, I came here because-“ He looked around one last time, his voice becoming a whisper. “Because I know who my parents were, my true parents.”

His uncle’s face saddened.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you. It wasn’t my secret to tell.”

“I know.” Jon said, forcing down the rest of his soup.

“You here to see the maester?”

Jon nodded.

“Alright then. You’ll meet him tomorrow, after you get some rest.” Jon made to protest but his uncle cut him off. “You’ll want a clear head when you speak with him.”

Benjen stood, motioning for him to follow.

“I’ll show you to your chambers.”


	9. A Dragon In The Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon listens to Lord Commander Mormont's petition, and speaks with Maester Aemon. Benjen Stark goes north.

Jon

 He stepped out onto the balcony overlooking the courtyard, the morning cold settling into his bones. Jon would have preferred a few more hours sleep, but the men of the Nights Watch had woken early and started their training at the break of dawn. Jon watched as a man began barking commands at recruits. His method of training was less technique and more allowing the recruits to bash at each other until one gave up.

Jon heard footsteps approaching and he looked over his shoulder, finding his uncle.

“That’s Alliser Thorne, our Master-at-Arms.” Benjen said.

Thorne motioned for two recruits to fight, and the duel lasted only a couple seconds before one recruit fell to the ground, blood running from his nose. The victorious recruit looked back towards Thorne.

“What are you waiting for, thief? Hit him, till he finds his feet.” Thorne sneered.

Jon winced as the recruit swung his blunted blade down, slamming into his thin practice armor. The man started to howl in pain, begging for a reprieve.

“Not one for kindness, is he?” Jon asked his uncle, unable to tear his eyes away from the scene.

“No.” Benjen answered bluntly. “His years at the Wall hardened him, it happens to many of us.” He sighed and placed his hand on his shoulder. “The Lord Commander is ready to see you, Maester Aemon is with him.”

Jon felt his muscles tense involuntarily, and it was just enough for Benjen to notice.

“Don’t worry Jon, they’ll only speak of their needs for the Watch. You’ll be able to speak with him later, alone.”

\---

Benjen pushed open the door to the hall and walked through. Jon followed him in. Two older men sat at a table, conversing. His uncle cleared his throat, announcing their presence.

“Lord Commander, this is my nephew, Jon.”

The Lord Commander looked up from the table.

“Ah, yes, I heard of your arrival last night. I hope the journey wasn’t too harsh.” He said, standing from the table and holding out his hand.

Jon gripped his hand and gave it a couple firm shakes.

“Not at all my lord. And thank you for your hospitality.”

The man grunted, returning to his seat. Jon sat down across from the two men. He heard the door to the hall open, and turned to see Benjen leaving. Lord Commander Mormont spoke, regaining his attention.

“He’s a good man, your uncle. One of the best rangers we’ve ever had.” He tapped the table and smiled proudly.

“How many winters have you seen, Jon Snow?” Maester Aemon asked, silent up to that point.

Jon thought for a moment. He had seen snows of course, but a true winter?

“One. I was but a child during it.” Jon replied, faintly remembering being stuck inside Winterfell for days, huddled next to the hearth.

“A summer child.” Aemon smiled, but it soon faded. “I fear we’ll soon see the end of this summer. The Starks are always right eventually, winter is coming. And dark things will come with it.”

“Aye, we have lost more rangers in the last month than we have in years. Entire patrols have gone missing, and those who do manage to return speak of the wildlings moving further south, entire villages abandoned.” Commander Mormont said, one hand rubbing at his temple.

“The Nights Watch is the only thing that stands between the realm, and what lies beyond. And it has become an army of undisciplined boys and tired old men. There are less than six hundred of us now.” Aemon paused, making sure he felt the magnitude of their situation. “We can’t man the other castles on the wall, we can’t properly patrol the wilderness. We’ve barely enough resources to keep our lads armed, and fed.”

“Your father is the Warden of the North, and a good friend of the King. Tell him, we need help.” The Lord Commander pleaded.

“When winter does come, gods help us all if we’re not ready.”

Jon swallowed, a chill making its way down his spine.

“I’ll speak with my father. I promise, I’ll get you what I can.”

Both men eased somewhat at his words, though he could tell they weren’t going to wait with bated breath for help to come.

“Thank you.” Mormont said, rising and shaking his hand again. “Feel free to take the lift to the top. It’s quite the sight.”

\---

Jon walked tentatively to the edge of the Wall and peered over. The cold wind stung his face and he wrapped the cloak as tight as he could around him. The Lord Commander was right, it was quite a sight to behold. The untamed Land of Always Winter. Jon remembered all the tales he was told as a child, stories of giants, mammoths, direwolves, and white walkers. He gawked, seeing every mountain peak and every tree for miles upon miles, and wondered for a moment if such things did exist. If there were such a place, it would be here. It looked magical… It felt magical. A hand on his shoulder brought him back to reality.

“I wanted to be here, when you saw it for the first time. But you beat me to the top.” Benjen laughed. “Beautiful isn’t it?”

“Overwhelming more like.”

Benjen grinned, then shifted nervously.

“I’m leaving.”

“Leaving?” Jon asked, turning to face him.

“A patrol was due back two days ago. The Lord Commander has asked me to lead a searching party.”

“Let me go with you.”

“No.”

“But- “

“No.” Benjen said, his face becoming stern. “You’ve never been beyond the Wall, it’s no place for you.”

“I can handle myself.” Jon retorted, crossing his arms.

 Benjen moved closer, looking him in the eyes.

“I know you can, but you’re not here to join the Nights Watch. Speak with Aemon, and I’ll be back before you return to Winterfell.” Benjen stepped down from the edge. “Come, let’s go back.”

Jon looked one last time at the land beyond the Wall and stepped down, following his uncle back to the lift.

\---

Night fell upon the castle, and he made his way to Maester Aemon’s chambers. Jon crossed the courtyard, observing as grumbling Night’s Watchmen clambered into the lift, beginning their ascent to the top. He felt sorry for them, it was cold enough on the Wall during the day, and he couldn’t imagine what it must be like at night.

Jon got turned around once or twice, but eventually found the maester’s chambers. His hand shook nervously as he held it up to knock. He breathed, trying to slow his rapid heartbeat, and rapped his knuckles against the door. Jon waited in anticipation, his own pulse audible.

“Enter.” Came Aemon’s shaky voice.

Jon pushed open the door, finding Aemon sat in a chair next to the hearth, facing him. Jon closed the door behind him and locked it. The room was cleaner than his own, everything placed neatly and easily accessible.

“Who is it?” Aemon asked concernedly.

“Jon Snow. May we speak Maester?”

Aemon’s brows lifted in recognition.

“It’s quite late isn’t it Jon Snow?”

“Aye, it is.” Jon answered.

The Maester hummed with curiosity, and motioned towards the chair next to him. Jon removed his cloak and sat across from him.

“So, why are you here, pestering an old man at this hour?” He joked.

Jon grinned, relaxing at Aemon’s demeanor.

“To talk.” Jon hesitated, trying to find the right words to say.

“About?”

“About who I am.” Jon said quickly. Aemon’s head tilted slightly. “I wasn’t born Jon Snow. I was given that name by Eddard Stark to protect me, because I am his sister’s son. Rhaegar Targaryen’s trueborn.” Jon said, voice trembling.

The maester’s mouth hung open, and he shifted in the chair to sit straighter. He must have believed him, because he made no effort to ask him to leave. They sat in silence, hearing only the crackling of logs in the fireplace.

“Maester?” Jon asked softly.

His eyes blinked, and he found his voice.

“What is your name, boy?”

Jon cleared his throat.

“Aegon.”

Aemon’s face broke into a wide smile.

“Aegon,” He repeated to himself. “I had a brother named Aegon.”

“Aegon the Unlikely.” Jon said, remembering his lessons.

“Yes. Though I rarely called my little brother by his name, he was always Egg to me.” His smile faltered a bit. “Come closer… please.”

Jon slid his chair closer, within reach of Aemon. He reached his hand out, running it over his nose and along his jawline.

“You have Egg’s nose.” Aemon commented with a laugh. “I take it you have the Stark coloring?”

Jon nodded, forgetting for a moment that Aemon was blind, and his face reddened in embarrassment.

“Yes, I do.”

The Maester sighed, and leant back in his chair.

“I’ll never forget the day the ravens came with the news from the capital. The gods were cruel when they saw fit to test my vows. They waited until I was old and blind.” The maester’s jaw clenched. “I was here, rotting away at the Wall as they killed our family.”

Aemon took a deep breath to calm himself, and Jon felt his throat tighten.

“I was the second son of Maekar, and I never expected to become king. So, I studied to become a maester, giving up my inheritance and titles.” He tilted his head towards the hearth, the firelight painting his face orange. “When my eldest brother Aerion died, there were those who thought I should ascend, even though I had already sworn my vows as a maester. I refused the throne… and Egg became king. I joined the Nights Watch not long after, leaving the capital and those who sought to use me for their own gain.”

The tears in Aemon’s eyes glistened.

“I’ve had many years to reflect on that decision, wondering if it was the right one. Perhaps I would have been a good king, or perhaps I would have succumbed to the madness that took my brothers. Perhaps if I had been king… our family would not be ashes.” He turned to him then, his visionless gaze meeting his own. “You are the true heir to the throne. I will not tell you whether or not to act on that, you must make that choice yourself.” Aemon’s hand came to rest upon his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. “And live with it for the rest of your days… as I have.”

Jon’s mind raced, he hadn’t truly thought about whether or not becoming king was what he wanted. He could have lived out his life without ever having to make that decision, maybe even here at the Wall, if not for Lyanys. Lyanys…

“Maester, there’s something else you should know.”

\-----

Benjen Stark

“No, Please!” One of his comrades begged, in vain.

“He’s not the one we want, kill him.”

A wildling pulled a small dagger and swiftly slashed the man’s throat. His black brother fell forward, the snow turning a deep red as his life drained from him. Benjen crawled through the snow, the broken shaft of an arrow digging further into his thigh as he did. He pulled himself into a sitting position next to a tree, wincing at the pain in his leg.

“Burn the bodies.” He heard the wildling say. “You know what happens if you don’t.”

He heard footsteps moving closer to him, and frantically looked for anything he could use as a weapon, to no avail. Benjen took off his belt and held it in his mouth, biting down. He grabbed the arrow shaft in his thigh and ripped it upwards, the belt muffling his scream. He spit out the belt and tied it over the wound. Benjen trembled in pain but found the strength to stand up. He closed his eyes, listening to the footfalls, and gripped the arrowhead tightly.

The wildling stopped when he reached the tree, and Benjen slowed his breathing. The wildling moved forward just enough for him to reach and Benjen struck. He was fast, even with his leg wound, but this wildling was faster. He caught his hand and gripped hard enough for the arrowhead to fall from it.

“You Starks are hard to kill. I like it.” The wildling said with a smile. He slammed his head into his, causing his vision to blur. He released his arm and Benjen fell into a heap in the snow.

“Get him to Mance.”


	10. Kill The Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Benjen missing beyond the Wall, Jon prepares to return to Winterfell. Mance reveals his plans to Benjen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thanks to those who have been leaving kudos and comments on this fic. I do truly appreciate it.
> 
> Secondly, Mance will probably seem a bit OOC here. I hope it makes sense to you all.

Jon

The blade swung towards his head, hissing in the air as it went. Jon swiftly backed away and rose his shield, blocking his opponent’s next blow. He lowered his shield and their blades collided and locked together, the steel singing their solemn tune.

His opponent shoved him off, sending him rolling on the ground. Jon wasted no time before standing again, discarding the weight of the shield and holding the sword in two hands. His opponent charged, putting Jon on the defensive. He blocked the man’s strikes with ease, and fatigue was soon evident on his adversary’s face. Their blades continued their song as they fought, with Jon patiently waiting for an opportunity to strike.

He soon found it as the man lowered his shield in fatigue. Jon met his opponent’s sword in the air and sent it into the dirt, knocking the man off balance. The man tried to hold the shield above him but his strength failed him. Jon held the tip of his blunted blade to the man’s neck. He dropped his shield and sword, landing on the ground with a thud.

“I win.” Jon said, removing the sword from his neck.

“Aye, I suppose you did. Not bad.” Jory replied tiredly, struggling to catch his breath. “If only I were ten years younger.” He mused.

“I still would have beat you.”

“Cockiness doesn’t suit you, boy.” Jory said with a grin. They left their practice weapons in the courtyard and took off toward the hall.

It was still dark when he found Jory walking the castle. Jon was surprised to see him up so early as Jory and the Stark men had taken to spending their time at Castle Black inside. Preferably next to a fire, with a mug of ale in hand.

They had been at the Wall for five days now, and some of the men were starting to get restless. They voiced their desire to return to Winterfell and Jon couldn’t blame them. Life here wasn’t easy, especially with the Nights Watch being as undermanned as it was. Jory and his soldiers helped when asked, but weren’t too thrilled to be working amongst rapists and murderers.

Jon spent most of his time with Maester Aemon. His reaction to the reveal of Lyanys had left Jon worrying that he had passed on right in front of him. It was hard for him to believe, as the dragons had been extinct near a century before he was born.

They spoke at length about Lyanys, what she looked like, her temperament, size, and so on. But what intrigued Aemon the most was the circumstance of her birth. Jon had told him of the paper he and Arya had found and from that, as well as what Aemon had read about and heard of in his years of training as a maester, left him with the impression that hatching a dragon required some form of blood magic. His own brother had died trying to hatch dragons with blood magic, and all Jon had done was place the egg into fire.

Jon found that the time he had spent in Aemon’s company was enjoyable, if a bit dull. The bulk of the past days were spent with Jon reading and responding to Castle Black’s correspondence with the Shadow Tower and Eastwatch. Those castles were experiencing many of the same issues as Castle Black, falling into disrepair and, most concerningly, the continued decimation of rangers sent beyond the Wall. Both Eastwatch and the Shadow Tower had stopped sending out men altogether, as their numbers had reached a critical low.

Three days had passed since Benjen had left with the searching party, and Jon found himself worrying more and more as the time passed. It was stupid for him to leave, especially with the current situation.

He and Jory entered the hall and found it moderately populated, with one younger Stark soldier in the corner properly soused. Jory left him to discipline the man, and Jon made his way to the kitchens.

While nothing in comparison to Winterfell’s cooking, Jon still found himself salivating at the smell of freshly cooked venison. He loaded his plate, grabbed a mug of ale, and sat next to Jory. He looked over to the soldier and found him looking a deathly pale.

“What did you tell him?” Jon asked, stuffing his face with food.

Jory smirked.

“That if he didn’t sober up I’d report him to your father, get him sentenced to the Wall.”

Jon looked at him incredulously.

“And he believed you?”

“Aye.” Jory chuckled. “He’s a good fighter, but not very smart. Also helps that he was piss drunk.”

They shared a laugh and Jon finished his breakfast, swirling the last bit of ale in his mug.

“When will we leave for Winterfell?” Jory asked.

“When my uncle Benjen returns.” Jon answered. Another question threatened to spill from Jory’s lips, and Jon cut him off. “Two, three more days. How’s that?”

“Sounds good.”

Jory left for the kitchens and Jon finished off his ale. He sat at his table a few moments longer, before the sound of a horn could be heard from atop the Wall. Jon hurriedly made for the courtyard, nearly tripping over his own feet.

The Lord Commander and a few others had gathered as well, and Jon heard the sound of horses galloping down the tunnel. No, the sound of a single horse. It burst out from the tunnel entrance and Jon immediately saw that it had no rider. He also recognized whose horse it was.

“That’s my uncle’s horse!” Jon exclaimed in horror. He turned to the Lord Commander. “Where is my uncle?”

\-----

Benjen Stark

He woke with a start, head pounding as a redheaded wildling poured cold water over his head. Benjen felt his hands tied to a post, and his eyes shot around the room. He was in a wildling hut, wolf and bear furs covered the ground, and skulls of various animals decorated the walls. Benjen shivered as the cold water trickled down his neck.

“There he is, awake at last.” The redheaded man taunted. He splashed a bit more water on his face and laughed.

“That’s enough Tormund. We don’t want our guest to feel unwelcome.” Another man said. The redhead looked back to him, lip curling into a snarl. He left with a grunt, storming out of the hut.

The man was behind him and Benjen tried to twist his head around to look, but his restraints held him in place. The footsteps slowly made their way closer, and his heart pounded in his chest.

He stepped into view and Benjen stared him down.

“Hello, Benjen Stark. Do you know who I am?” He asked.

“Mance Rayder.” Benjen said through gritted teeth. He shook involuntarily as the pain in his leg flared again.

“That I am.” He said, grinning. He pointed to the wound on his leg. “I’ll have someone see to your leg. I can’t have you dying yet, as disappointing as that may be.”

Mance sighed and made to leave, but Benjen stopped him.

“Why? Why not kill me?”

“I had to get your brother’s attention.” His face suddenly became grim and he started to pace around the room. “I need to meet with the southerners.”

Benjen couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him.

“And you think my brother will negotiate and let you south?” Benjen asked, and shook his head. “You’re a fool.”

Mance walked back to him and crouched, looking him in the eyes.

“Winter is coming, as you Starks so eloquently say. I’ve seen what lurks in the far north, and it’s coming for all of us. Every man, woman, and child in my camp will be dead before the coming winter ends if we can’t get south. And after we’re gone, you’ll be next.”

“You are a madman.” Benjen sneered, burying his fear. Mance held his stare, undaunted by his insult.

“One day you will see the truth Benjen Stark. If you manage to live long enough.”

\-----

Jon

“There’s nothing to be done.” Lord Commander Mormont said with finality. He leaned on his desk and averted his gaze.

“Nothing to be done?” Jon repeated his words in disbelief. “We have to go north and find him!”

“We can’t!” He bellowed, slamming his hand on his desk in frustration. “I don’t have the manpower to lead an expedition beyond the Wall.”

Jon stood unmoving, surprised by the Lord Commander’s eruption.

“We have to do something.” Jon said, balling his hands into fists.

“I know. Your uncle is one of the only men in this world that I would call friend. I will do what I can from here, but you must return to Winterfell and get the help we need. I will send a raven ahead.” He walked out from behind his desk and stood before him. “You are a good man, Jon Snow. Not many people have the courage to risk their lives for another, even for family.” He sighed. “Leave in the morning, I’ll have your horses prepared.”

\---

Night soon fell on the Wall, and Jon found himself once more in Maester Aemon’s chambers. They sat together, much like they did in their first meeting. Jon messed with the straps of his tunic, desperately trying to take his mind off of his uncle.

“I heard of what happened to your uncle, I’m sorry Jon.” Aemon said.

Jon couldn’t hold back his frustration any longer.

“Everyone’s bloody sorry, but no one wants to do a damn thing!” Jon exploded, firing up from his chair. “How could I ask men to fight for me, proclaim myself king, if I can’t protect my own uncle?”

Maester Aemon sat unflinching.

“It’s not your job to protect Benjen. He is First Ranger, and his duty to the Nights Watch is what put him in danger. You couldn’t have prevented any of this, no man could have. We can only do our duty and hope that it is enough…” Aemon motioned for him to come closer. He grasped his hand and squeezed tightly. “Kill the boy, Jon Snow. Return to Winterfell, do your duty. Kill the boy, and let the man be born.”

\---

_‘Lyanys… Fly north, see if you can track my uncle.’_

Jon opened his eyes to see the Land of Always Winter glowing under a full moon. He had walked down the Wall, far away from the patrolling Nights Watchmen. Jon wanted to get away from it all. It felt wrong, leaving now, even if it was the only thing he could do.

The Wall was serene in a peculiar way, so far above the constant violence of the world, only the sound of wind breaking against ice to be heard. He looked out over the horizon hoping to see Lyanys roaming the skies, but found nothing but the endless forest and mountains. He looked down at his hand and flexed, feeling numb from the cold.

He stood up and walked down to the brazier he had lit, grabbing one of the orange coals and holding it in between his hands. The warmth spread in his hands and fingers, moving up into his arms. It was an odd sensation, but a pleasant one as the numbness waned.

The sound of wind became stronger and the ice under his feet shook. Jon dropped the coal, hearing it hiss as the snow around it boiled. Jon walked further down the path until he heard a familiar sound that made his lips curve into a smile.

“Lyanys!” Jon called out.

The ice under him trembled once more and she came into view, and Jon’s face went slack. She had at least doubled, maybe even tripled in size.

Seeing his shock, Lyanys crept closer and lowered herself to him. Jon tentatively stepped forward and rubbed his hand over her neck, eliciting a low rumble. Lyanys moved, lowering herself even further. Jon looked to her questioningly and she gave a slight tilt of her head.

He slowly climbed up, careful not to pull too hard on any of her scales. Jon struggled to find a comfortable position on her back, and Lyanys blew out a puff of smoke. She lurched forward and Jon leaned against her, wrapping his arms around her neck.

Lyanys fell forward off the Wall, diving towards the ground. Jon squeezed his eyes shut, his heart beating painfully fast in his chest. His cloak flapped wildly against the strong rush of air. He felt her wings spread open and her flight soon became even and steady. Jon slowly opened his eyes and carefully pushed himself up. He held onto the spines of her back and leaned over the side. He could see the shadow they cast gliding across the snow. He started to laugh, in sheer disbelief and exhilaration. Lyanys raised the crimson frills on her neck and released an ear-splitting roar that could surely be heard for miles.

Jon looked behind him and saw the Wall slowly becoming smaller as they flew. He reached one of his hands down and patted her neck.

_‘Let’s find Benjen, Lya.’_

\---

She landed in a clearing with a thud, the beating of her wings sending up clouds of freshly fallen snow. Jon dismounted and looked around. He saw the remnants of a camp, covered in a thin layer of snow. He stepped forward and felt a crunch under his foot. Jon knelt down, brushing aside the fresh snow and revealing a blackened splotch. He removed his glove and held his hand over it, causing it to melt. Jon held his hand up in the moonlight, watching as it shined. He brought it to his nose and inhaled. Blood.

Jon stood and continued exploring the camp. He found strewn pieces of equipment, broken arrows, and more pools of frozen blood. It was a massacre.

He ventured out of the clearing and into a wooded area, following the half-filled imprints and drag marks. The footprints converged further in and looked to be heading north.

He heard rustling in the woods, causing his hairs to stand on end. Jon stopped and slowly drew his sword, not making a sound. He peered further into the forest, squinting, and he was certain that he saw the outline of a person, their eyes a vibrant blue.

Jon backed away, keeping his eyes trained on the dark woods. He heard more movement, now at his sides, and he took off in a full sprint back to Lyanys.

Her head perked upon hearing his return but soon took on a defensive posture as she saw him running, baring her teeth and growling deeply. Jon stopped and turned back to the forest, now seeing several sets of blue eyes glowing in the darkness. He quickly sheathed his sword and climbed onto her back.

“Lya, get us out of here.” Jon commanded, his breath turning into clouds as the air became increasingly colder.

She bounded off the ground, taking flight, and he watched as all of the eyes followed their movements, before slinking back into the forest.

\---

They flew north, tracking the wildlings all the way to the Fist of the First Men. The tracks led east after reaching the Fist, giving Jon a good idea of where the wildings had set up camp. The Skirling Pass.

He and Lyanys had a couple hours to rest until dawn and they set down atop the Fist. Jon dismounted, still shaken by the encounter he had in the forest, and sat on the cold ground.

Lyanys followed suit, laying down and coiling her neck around him. The heat emanating from her scales soon had him closing his eyes, drifting into a dreamless sleep.

\-----

 

Mance Rayder

He awoke before dawn to walk the camp, the sun just starting to brighten the sky. The free folk look up to him, expecting him to be the one to lead them through the Long Night. His people naming him the King-Beyond-The-Wall, a title bestowed on those who manage to unite the constantly squabbling tribes.

Many among them have seen the dangers prowling in these lands, not the bears or the wolves, but the walking corpses. Wights, the dead reborn from magic. Men, women, and children turned into nothing but mindless beasts. And the white walkers, the harbingers of winter. He had only ever caught a glimpse of one, and the memory of their icy skin and piercing eyes always managed to send chills down his spine.

More free folk join him by the day, knowing that their best chance for survival lay with him. Their camp in the Skirling Pass constantly grew, the Frostfang mountains providing needed shelter for the free folk. But it is a temporary solution, and they need to get south by either fighting or, he hoped, by making peace with the southerners. Easier said than done, as generations of animosity between the free folk and those south of the Wall would not be easy to overcome. He knew that his plan would likely fail, but he had to try. The living couldn’t afford any more pointless slaughter, not with winter bearing down on them.

“You shouldn’t walk the camp alone, never know when one of these mad fuckers will decide they want to gut someone.”

Mance turned to see Tormund Giantsbane, one of his most trusted men, sitting by a fire with a skin of sour goat’s milk in hand. He laughed and sat across from him, the warmth of the fire a welcome feeling. Tormund passed him the skin and he gladly took a swig, years of practice allowing the foul concoction to go down with ease.

“How’s the crow?” Tormund asked.

“Healing. Lucky that archer of yours doesn’t have better aim.” He said, passing the drink back to him.

“Wasn’t luck. Girl aimed to take him down.”

“It’s good she’s on our side then.”

Tormund took a long draught and wiped his face with his hand.

“Everyone in this camp wants to cut that crow’s throat, even heard children arguing over it.” Tormund said, setting aside the skin. “This plan of yours, using the brother of some king in the south, will it work?”

“No, probably not.” Mance sighed, watching the horizon. “But one way or another we need to get over that damn wall. It would be better for our people if we passed through peacefully.”

Tormund grunted and warmed his hands over the flames.

“I don’t see the point of all this talk of peace, and neither do many others. We should attack the Wall now, while they’re weak. Our army could take Castle Black in a day.”

“Aye, we could. But you’ve seen the same things I’ve seen, Tormund. Our people can’t fight them alone, the Thenns tried and now look at them, a shadow of what they once were.” Mance said, shifting in place. “The southerners need to see who the true enemy is. If we march on the Wall and get past, what then? Take on the Starks? Fight mounted southern knights? No, we try to come to terms.”

Tormund grunted again, looking into the flames.

“And when they decide not to listen?”

“Then we kill them all.” Mance answered, iciness in his voice.

Tormund smiled and picked up the skin of goat’s milk, holding it up in toast.

“I’ll drink to that.”

Mance laughed as he watched the man down the rest of the liquid without care, before noticing smoke billowing up beyond the camp. He stood up from the fire, trying to get a better look.

“Tormund, get someone to find out what’s causi- “

His orders were cut off by a blood-curdling roar that echoed terrifyingly throughout the valley. He heard Tormund cough on the goat’s milk behind him, and an eerie silence settled over the camp. His breath quickened as he scanned the mountains around them, expecting to see the dead rolling down the hills in the thousands.

“To arms!” Mance shouted over the silent camp, drawing the blade at his hip.

His teeth ground in his mouth as he struggled to find the threat. People started to pour out of their huts, spears and bows in hand. He heard a woman scream to his right and he twisted around to look.

“Above us!”

Mance felt his eyes widen in shock as he witnessed the impossible.

\-----

Jon

Lyanys nudged him awake with her snout, and Jon yawned as he pushed himself back to his feet. The sky was still dark, though the first light of day could be seen on the horizon.

Jon yawned again and stretched, wiping the sleep from his eyes. He turned back to Lyanys only to see her take off into the sky. Jon watched her fly higher, her graceful moves causing his chest to swell with pride. She dove back towards the ground and Jon moved to the edge of the cliff to see what she was going after.

A group of elk roamed across the plain, and Lyanys shot a stream of fire at one of the stragglers, setting it aflame and lighting the area. The elk fell to the ground, still kicking its legs as Lyanys’s jaws wrapped around its neck and violently thrashed it side to side. Jon closed his eyes, having to remind himself that she was a dragon, not a puppy.

She flew straight back to the fist, her fresh kill grasped firmly in the claws of her legs. Jon held up his arms to block the snow that her wings kicked up. Lyanys placed the charred elk down and looked to him, cocking her head to the side. Jon nodded, wondering if she was looking for approval or something else. That question was soon answered as Lyanys tore off a chunk of meat and laid it at his feet. He couldn’t help but to smile, even as gruesome as the sight was.

He knelt down and ripped off a piece, tossing it into his mouth. While it wasn’t the best thing he had ever eaten, it was certainly better than nothing.

“You’re not a bad cook, Lya.”

She puffed a cloud of smoke at him, something Jon had taken to understand as laughter. Probably. Jon ate his fill of elk and waited for his dragon to finish hers. The sun was now just peeking above ground, sending its first rays to his eyes.

“We should get moving.” Jon said, wiping his hands against his trousers.

Lyanys took one last bite and swallowed before moving towards him and lowering her shoulder. Jon climbed up her back, far more confidently this time, and looked towards the Skirling Pass. It wouldn’t take long for them to reach it.

\---

They flew high above the Skirling Pass and Jon spotted the camp with ease. It stretched at least a mile or more within the valley, leaving him without a clue as to where to go.

He figured news of a ranger’s capture would spread throughout the camp, someone had to know where he was being held. Jon leaned forward on Lyanys’s back, squinting his eyes, watching the edge of the camp for movement. After several long moments he found a target. Two people walking on a path up to the valley. Jon urged Lyanys downward, holding on to the hope that these wildings were guards returning from their shift.

Lyanys dove silently, remarkably so, as the wildlings didn’t hear their approach until Lyanys opened her wings to stop their rapid descent. The wildlings turned and drew their weapons as they heard their approach. They clearly were expecting something other than a dragon, as their faces paled in fear and they took off sprinting. Lyanys quickly caught up with them and knocked both of the wildlings down with the wind from a hard beat of her wings.

Jon dismounted and drew his sword, holding it to one of the wildlings necks as he tried to crawl towards the axe he dropped.

“Don’t even think about it.” Jon said forcefully.

Jon looked over to Lyanys, who had the other wildling pinned to the ground with just her stare, teeth showing. Jon tapped his sword to the wildlings shoulder and he rolled over. He was momentarily taken aback, as now he could see her face.

“A girl.” He accidentally said aloud.

“A boy.” She replied smartly, though she was shivering with fear. “With a fucking dragon.”

Jon hesitated for a moment before remembering the reason for this encounter.

“Tell me what I want to know and I’ll let you on your way. What’s your name?”

“Y-ygritte.”

“Benjen Stark. Where is he being held?”

“Who?”

Jon increased the pressure of the blade on her throat, drawing blood.

“Where is Benjen Stark, Ygritte? I won’t ask again.”

Lyanys growled loudly enough to make the man under her whimper in fear, and Ygritte cracked.

“Middle of camp, next to Mance Rayder’s hut. You can’t miss it.” Ygritte answered, every word strained as she stared at him in defiance, chest heaving under the layers of hides.

Jon removed his sword from her neck.

“Thank you, Ygritte.”

He backed away, still watching her, when he heard movement behind him. Jon turned to see the wildling crawling away from Lyanys, reaching for his axe, only to be engulfed in her flames a moment later. He screamed in pain for a short moment and died, the smell of his burning flesh making Jon gag.

He looked back to where Ygritte was and saw her already halfway up the path. Jon sheathed his sword and mounted Lyanys once more. She trained her eyes on the fleeing figure.

“Let her go, Lya. She told us what we needed.”

Instead of chasing after the girl, Lyanys let out a deafening roar, making the wildling girl trip over her feet. Lyanys bounded off the ground and took flight, soon flying over Ygritte and cresting the hill, Mance Rayder’s camp coming into full view. He easily spotted the wildling leader’s hut, as well as the smaller branching one.

_‘Fly a bit higher. Surround the huts with flames and I’ll find Benjen.’_

Lyanys roared again in response, and Jon’s heart started beating uncontrollably. He was really doing this, riding into battle on dragonback.

_Arya is going to kill me._

They dove back down towards the ground, coming closer and closer to the camp. Jon could see wildlings rushing out of their huts, their screams starting to reach his ears. He felt the heat of Lyanys belching flames, and she did so with pinpoint accuracy, encircling the two huts. The fire didn’t hit any of the others, and would provide him enough cover to get in, find Benjen, and leave.

Lyanys landed harshly, jolting him forward. He quickly recovered and dismounted, drawing his sword and cutting down a stunned wildling guard. Lya took out three other wildlings with short bursts of fire. Jon could hear thousands of people screaming at once, it was chaos.

He ducked into the smaller of the two huts and found Benjen, tied to the central post, his eyes wide in confusion and fear.

“Jon!? How- “

“Not now Benjen, I’ll explain later.” Jon said, using his sword to cut through his uncle’s restraints. He saw the wrapped wound on his leg and pointed to it. “Can you walk?”

“With some help.” Benjen replied, and Jon took his arm and wrapped it around his shoulder, lifting him off the floor.

They stumbled out of the door, and Jon spotted Lyanys fending off some wildlings who managed to brave the flames. He and Benjen watched as she sank her teeth into a burly man and tossed him into the air as if he were nothing. Jon heard his uncle’s gasp over the chaos and looked at him. Benjen couldn’t take his eyes off of the grey and crimson dragon as she ripped apart another wildling.

“Lyanys! We need to go, now!” Jon bellowed, ashes from nearby corpses falling like snow.

She turned to them and swiftly moved forward, whipping her tail into another wildling and sending him flying back through the wall of flames. Jon pushed Benjen up onto her back with him following shortly after.

Lyanys shot another stream of fire onto two more approaching wildlings, though not before one hurled his spear. The spear lodged itself into her right shoulder, causing her to roar in pain and anger. She tore the spear from her shoulder with her teeth and took flight. Arrows whistled by them as they flew, and Jon peered over to see thousands of people watching them.

An arrow damn near the size of a tree flew overhead, directing his attention. It was a giant. A real, flesh and blood giant. He had no time to marvel however, as the giant shot another tree sized arrow at them.

“Bank right, Lya! Hold on Benjen!”

She did as commanded, and the giant’s arrow barely missed Lya’s left wing. He could tell that Lyanys was tiring, as she was barely able to stay high enough to clear the mountains ahead.

_‘Get us back to the Fist, Lya. Almost there.’_

Lyanys gave a couple strong flaps of her wings, and now had just enough height to escape the valley. And they were now out of range of both normal and giant sized arrows. Jon looked back towards the camp, and watched as the wildlings and giants worked to put out the flames, and he breathed easy.

He turned just in time to spot a red-haired wildling loose an arrow from the top of the mountain path.

“Down!” He screamed, pushing Benjen flat against the dragon’s back.

Warmth trickled down his front, soaking his thin armor. He looked down, watching as his own blood dripped off of the arrow buried in his chest.

“Be- Benj- “

He felt his entire body lighting up in pain, his muscles contracting as he struggled for air. His uncle turned to him just as his vision slowly blurred and the pain disappeared, replaced with darkness and a cold unlike anything he had ever experienced before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So? Did it suck? Was it meh? Was it smashing? Let me know! Feedback and writing tips are welcome.
> 
> I imagined the dragon battle scene a bit like the one in 5x09 when Drogon saves Dany. And Lyanys is now just a tad smaller than season 5 Drogon now. I'll probably get berated for that, but... Magic amirite. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	11. Rescued

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyanys returns to Castle Black, where Maester Aemon works to save Jon. Jeor Mormont learns of Mance Rayder's plans. Jon dreams.

Benjen Stark

Benjen had his eyes shut tightly, completely lost for words. He was sure that he was dreaming, that he would wake in a few moments to the feeling of freezing water against his skin. Even as he gripped the warm scales of its back, he still couldn’t believe it to be true.

“Be- Benj- “

He could barely hear his nephew’s words over the sound of the dragon’s pained screech. He turned to see Jon clutching his chest, an arrow buried in it. Jon’s eyes fluttered closed and he started to list dangerously. Benjen twisted his upper body around to catch him before he tumbled off onto the mountainside below.

“Jon, Jon!” Benjen tried to wake him to no avail. He held his fingers against his throat, feeling a slow thrum. “Castle Black! Get us to Castle Black!” He yelled, hoping the dragon would understand his words.

\-----

Jory Cassel

“We can’t find him, Lord Commander.” Jory said worriedly, standing before the high table. He and his men had searched the castle and come up with nothing, it was like Jon had disappeared into thin air. It was nearly midday and they were ready to return to Winterfell.

“Perhaps the bastard went to Molestown for the night.” Alliser Thorne said. Jory gave the man a quizzical look. “There’s a brothel there.”

“Jon wouldn’t do something like that. He’s a good lad, honorable, like his father.”

“He’s still a bastard, it’s possible.” Alliser retorted.

Surprisingly it was the maester who spoke up, not the Lord Commander.

“That’s enough Ser Alliser. I believe there are recruits that need your attention.”

Ser Alliser looked to Lord Commander Mormont, who motioned for him to leave. He did so, with a sound Jory could only describe as a growl.

“I’ll send have our men search atop the Wall. The boy is probably just getting a final look from the top.” Mormont said sadly.

“Thank you, Lord Commander. We may need to delay until tomorrow, seeing as it’s already midday.”

“Of course, take all the time you need.”

Jory gave his head a slight tilt towards the Lord Commander and exited the hall. He walked over to where his men had gathered in the courtyard.

“We spend one more night here.” Some of his men started to groan and hiss in displeasure. “It’s one more night next to a fire and warm food in your belly, stop your moaning. Go make yourselves useful.”

His men slowly started to remove themselves, guiding their horses back into the stables. A horn blast could be heard from atop the Wall and all eyes were instantly locked on the tunnel entrance.

“Ranger’s returnin’.” A scrawny Nights Watchman muttered.

Lord Commander Mormont stepped out from the hall, standing on the balcony. A second blast sounded from the top, causing everyone in sight to scramble for their weapons.

“Two blasts’ is wildlings.”

A third blast could barely be heard as it was cut off almost immediately. All movement ceased, their gazes drawn to the top of the Wall. A winged creature glided silently over the Wall. They watched for a moment in awe, before the beast started to circle back, flying towards the courtyard. Jory drew his sword, and sprinted back towards the Lord Commander.

“Is that what I think it is?” One of his men asked.

“It can’t be.” Jory said, squinting. He could see cloaks flapping wildly on the creature’s back. “It has riders!”

The beast landed without grace, skidding in the icy dirt and gravel. As soon as was possible one of the riders jumped off, falling to one knee in pain. It was Benjen Stark.

“Get Maester Aemon! Now!”

Jory stepped forward with his sword still drawn, gaining the attention of the dragon. It growled and huffed smoke at him in warning, and he slowly set his sword on the ground and moved closer to Benjen, the dragon’s blood-red eyes following his every step.

“Not me, get Jon.” Benjen said, still struggling to stand.

Jory looked to the dragon’s back and saw Jon sprawled out, blood slowly dripping off of the dragon’s grey scales. He grabbed the boy by the shoulders, carefully pulling him down. A Nights Watchman moved to help and they dragged Jon off towards the Maester’s turret.

\---

Jory let go of Jon’s arm to clear off a table, sending the neatly stacked books to the floor. They removed Jon’s sword belt and cloak, placing him on the table just as the maester entered the room. The maester moved about the room in confidence, knowing its layout perfectly. Aemon grabbed a leather case and opened it, revealing surgical equipment and vials.

“I am blind, as you know. Describe everything you see, in detail.”

Jory moved closer to see.

“He has an arrow in his chest, still lodged and coming out of his back.”

“Where on his chest?” Maester Aemon asked, moving towards Jon with a vial in hand.

“His left, below his collar.”

The maester hummed in understanding, touching his fingers to his neck.

“He still has a pulse, so his heart was not hit.” He leaned forward, his ear to Jon’s face. “His lung was not as lucky, labored breathing. Lift his head and hold open his mouth.”

Jory did as commanded, lifting Jon’s head and holding open his mouth as the maester dumped the contents of the vial into it.

“Close, please.” Maester Aemon ordered, returning the vial to his pouch. “Milk of the poppy. It will keep him asleep long enough for us to help.”

Jory nodded nervously, and Aemon grabbed a set of surgical scissors and started to cut through the leather armor and undershirt with his guidance. The maester then used a saw to shorten the length of the shaft and remove the fletchings.

“The arrow is the only seal that his lung has, when we remove it, his lung will collapse.” The maester explained, returning to his case and removing a large needle. “The pressure will need to be removed, or he will die.” Aemon walked back to the table to stand across from him. “When you are ready, lift him up and pull the arrow out, head first. I will handle the rest.”

Jory repositioned himself at Jon’s side.

“Going… now.” He announced.

Jory carefully tilted Jon on his side and gripped the protruding arrowhead tightly. He pulled it out gently, hearing a hiss once it was fully extracted. Jon’s labored breathing became more pronounced, and Jory worried that he had done something wrong.

“Any chipping or slivers of wood missing?” Aemon asked.

“No, it’s clean.”

“Heavy bleeding?”

“No. Just a trickle.” He answered, watching blood slowly stream from the wound.

Maester Aemon jumped in, face scrunched in concentration. He moved his hands along Jon’s chest and slowly plunged the needle down. He heard another hiss once the needle had entered far enough, and Jon sucked in a deep breath. Aemon sighed and wiped the sweat from his brow.

“Will he live?” Jory asked.

Maester Aemon touched his fingers to Jon’s throat once more.

“Yes, I believe so. The boy is young and strong. Though I still have much to do, time will tell. You may leave now if you so wish.”

He didn’t need to think long to answer that.

“I’ll stay, help you however you need.”

\-----

Benjen Stark

He stumbled out of the courtyard with the help of Lord Commander Mormont, and he sat down on the steps leading up to the hall. Benjen looked to the dragon, who was now laying down in the middle of the courtyard, completely exhausted from the long flight. Jeor also looked on, shocked, before taking a knee across from him.

“What happened out there?” He managed to ask.

Benjen shook his head and massaged his throbbing leg, remembering the last couple days.

“We made camp after searching for the lost ranger’s, and were ambushed by wildlings in the night. They killed all except me, and took me to their camp in the Skirling Pass. To Mance Rayder.”

“Mance? Why the Frostfangs?”

“The wildlings are gathering in the mountains. Mance was planning to use me to get an audience with Ned. Said something about seeing what lurks in the far north, and that all in his camp would be dead by the end of winter. Said I would see the truth someday.” Benjen finished explaining.

Jeor looked astounded.

“So, this was all planned to draw you out beyond the Wall?”

Benjen nodded.

“Mance must really believe what he said if he went through all of the trouble to do that. You said they took you to their camp, how many wildlings have gathered?”

Benjen looked back to the grey and crimson dragon, or ‘Lyanys’, as Jon had called her.

“I saw it from the air. The camp is large, somewhere between twenty to fifty thousand, could be more. They’ve giants in their ranks as well.”

Jeor stood and started to pace.

“If they attack, we won’t be able to hold the Wall.”

Benjen shifted, wincing as the pain in his leg flared again.

“You’re right, and they will attack now that I’ve escaped.”

The Lord Commander turned to the dragon, who was whining quietly.

“And how- ” Jeor started, only to be cut off by Lya’s rumbling. “How did you escape?” He asked hesitantly.

Benjen closed his eyes and sighed, as people were now surely making the connection that he and Ned had kept secret for sixteen years.

“It was Jon, he did this. He rescued me.” He couldn’t bear to say anything more than that.

“You.” Jeor pointed towards a young recruit. “Go check on Maester Aemon and the boy.”

The recruit did as he was told, walking around the dragon in wide arc. It might have even been comical if not for the current situation. Jeor moved back over and sat down next to him on the steps.

“Jon. is he a- “

“Yes.” Benjen answered, not allowing the words to be spoken aloud, even if it was in vain. “If you wish to know the rest, I please ask that we do it somewhere more private.”

The Lord Commander nodded and they sat and watched the dragon rest in the courtyard until the recruit returned.

“The maester says that only time will tell, but as of now he is stable.”

Benjen sighed in relief, rubbing his hands over his face.

“Thank you.” Jeor said, dismissing the boy. “That leg of yours need anything?”

“Some rest would be a good start.”

“Take it, I’d say you’ve earned it.”

\-----

Jon

_Jon opened his eyes, using his hand to block out the beating sun. His vision was foggy, but he knew instantly that he was no longer at the Wall. As his eyes adjusted to the brightness and his vision cleared, he found himself standing before a tower, its stones worn and faded. Jon walked closer, seeing a path of steps leading into the tower._

_Two men wearing armor bearing the Targaryen sigil stood guard at the foot of the path. Jon moved closer and cleared his throat. Neither of the guards noticed him, not even giving him so much as a glance as he started up the steps._

_The door to the tower was open and he walked through. The inside of the tower was just as weathered as the outside, with only a few rugs strewn around as decoration. He heard someone humming a tune to themselves, and he moved towards the sound._

_Jon peeked around the corner, seeing a woman folding clothes and placing them inside of a basket. He only caught a glimpse of the dress she folded and placed inside, but it was enough to distinguish the Stark sigil sewn upon it._

_The woman finished, placing the basket in the crook of her arm and marching out of the room. Jon moved out of the way, and though he should have still been within her line of sight she didn’t notice his presence either. She swiftly moved up a staircase and Jon followed, careful to not make a sound even though it seemed he was invisible to them. They reached the top and the woman knocked on the large chamber door._

_“You may enter.”_

_She pushed open the door and walked in, placing down the basket of clothes upon the bed. Jon entered the room, his gaze immediately drawn to the woman standing across the room. She was obviously a Stark, with her dark hair and eyes. Eyes mirroring his own. It couldn’t be…_

_“Here you are Lady Lyanna. Do you need anything else?”_

_Jon’s heart jumped into his throat._

_“No, thank you.”_

_The handmaiden left the room, leaving just him and his mother. Lyanna moved over to a desk, her loose-fitting dress elegantly waving as she did. She sat down in a chair and grasped a small tool, continuing her work on a half-finished stone direwolf. After a moment, his mother placed down the chisel and sat back smiling. She placed a hand over her pregnant belly and looked down at it._

_“Let me work, sweetling.” She said, the softness of her voice enough to send tears cascading down his face. Lyanna gasped quietly. “You are strong, aren’t you?” She laughed, rubbing her hand over her stomach. “Not yet, little dragon. But soon.”_

_Jon sniffed, wiping away the tears from his eyes, and tentatively stepped closer. He outstretched his hand, aiming to place it upon his mother’s shoulder._

_He touched the fabric of her dress and suddenly became dizzy, his world spinning and becoming dark. Jon shut his eyes, trying in vain to stop the spinning sensation bombarding him. Jon felt his feet hit solid ground, and when he was sure he wouldn’t vomit, he reopened them._

_He stood in a clearing, facing three people under a heart tree. He recognized his mother instantly, smiling up at a man with silver hair and dark indigo eyes. Rhaegar. His father._

_“Father, Smith, Warrior,” Jon looked on as the septon wrapped a ribbon around their joined hands. “Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger.”_

_“I am hers, and she is mine.”_

_“I am his, and he is mine.”_

_“From this day, until the end of my days.” They finished in unison._

_Rhaegar leaned forward, cupping his mother’s cheek tenderly, and kissed her. When they parted, Jon was sure he had never seen two people happier._

_The spinning sensation rolled over him again, though it was thankfully not as nauseating as the first._

_He was back in the tower, in his mother’s room. But this time his father was here as well. They lay beside each other in the bed, Rhaegar gently massaging the small swell of Lyanna’s belly._

_“I must leave, Lya, this war must end.” He said, placing a kiss to her forehead. “It will be over soon, and I will be here when our child is born. I promise.”_

_Tears fell down Lyanna’s face and she could only nod. Rhaegar got up from the bed, walking past Jon and grabbing a large leather bag from the desk. His father walked back to the bed and sat on the edge next to Lyanna._

_“I’ve been carrying this with me for a long time, but it’s no longer mine. This belongs to our child now.”_

_Rhaegar reached into the sack and pulled out a grey and crimson dragon egg, placing it into Lyanna’s arms._

_His mother gawked at the egg, touching each scale with care. Jon smiled at her reaction, which was much like his own._

_“It’s beautiful.” She stated in awe._

_Rhaegar hummed in agreement, his face breaking into a sad smile._

_“I found it when I last visited Dragonstone, after the tourney. It’s the last of my family’s dragon eggs.” Jon watched his face fall. “I didn’t want to bring it with me.”_

_Lyanna placed the egg on the bed and brought her hands to her husband’s face, pulling him down for a kiss. Their mouths parted after a long moment, but their foreheads rested against each other._

_“I’ll keep it safe, Rhaegar.” She whispered. “I love you.”_

_“And I love you, Lyanna.”_

_They kissed one last time, before his father reluctantly pulled himself away. Rhaegar spared a final glance at his wife before leaving the room. Jon watched his mother fall back onto the bed, her arms wrapped protectively around the dragon egg, as the sound of horses galloping away faded._

_Jon felt the urge to try and comfort her, but before he could make a single step forward he was sent to the ground, and when he blinked he was no longer in the tower. He was ankle deep in mud and gore, a flowing river turned red with blood. Jon was on the Trident._

_A Baratheon soldier charged his way and Jon rolled out of the way instinctually. But there was no need, as the soldier made for a dornishman whose spear was lodged in a northman’s chest. The soldiers blade sank into the Martell man’s gut, a feral scream escaping him as he pulled a dagger and wildly slashed the stormlander’s throat._

_Thousands of swords clashed against each other, the sounds of flesh being rent and the smell of guts splayed was enough to make Jon heave. He caught a red glint out of the corner of his eye and looked up to see his father cutting through Baratheon soldiers with ease, the rubies set in his armor gleaming in the sunlight._

_“RHAEGAR!”_

_Jon’s directed his gaze to the booming voice, finding the imposing figure of Robert Baratheon. His warhammer swung through the air, hitting a crownlands soldier with enough force to crumple his plate armor. Rhaegar spotted him as well and started across the ford, kingsguard in tow._

_“Father! Don’t!” The words escaped his mouth before Jon could stop them._

_Rhaegar stopped in his tracks for a moment, turning his head to look at the riverbank Jon stood on. His gaze lingered, trying to find the source, before turning his attention back to Robert. Jon watched helplessly as his father walked to his end, trudging through the water._

_Warhammer and sword clashed. Rhaegar was more skilled and agile, but Robert had pure brute strength, and made the best of it. They looked to be evenly matched for much of the fight, each striking true against the other. But the both of them soon tired, their movements becoming sluggish the longer their melee continued._

_Their weapons locked and Robert shoved his father off, sending him reeling into the rushing water. Rhaegar rolled out of the way as Robert charged forward, swinging his hammer down and hitting the water with a colossal splash. As Robert pulled his hammer from the mud, the tip of Rhaegar’s blade dug into a gap in his armor, infuriating him._

_Robert’s face took on the look of a man possessed, swinging at Rhaegar with enough force to unbalance him. Rhaegar tried to deflect the final swing, but strength behind it was too much. The blade flew from his hand, and the hammer smashed into Rhaegar’s chestplate with an audible crunch, sending the rubies flying into the Trident. The world around seemed to slow as Robert pulled the warhammer from his father’s chest, casting him down into the ford, the blood of thousands flowing around him._

_Jon closed his eyes, unable to look upon the horrid sight any longer._

_“His name… is Aegon Targaryen.” He heard his mother whisper weakly._

_He fell to his knees, breaking down into sobs as his mother lay in blood-soaked sheets, the grey and crimson egg still by her side._

_“If Robert finds out, he’ll kill him, you know he will. You have to protect him. Promise me, Ned.” She said, voice trembling. “Promise me.”_

_A newborn’s cries drew his attention, Lyanna’s handmaiden placing him into his uncle’s arms._

_“Promise me, Ned.” Lyanna pleaded. “Promise me…”_

_Ned Stark looked down at the bundle in his arms, unable to refuse his sister’s last wish. Jon shuffled to the bedside, his vision blurry from unshed tears, and reached out to grasp his dying mother’s hand. And he did. She turned her head towards him, her dark eyes meeting his, and squeezed his hand._

_It was something he had always wanted to know, craved to feel. A mother’s touch._

_“I love you, my little dragon.”_

_Her eyes fluttered closed and her grip on his hand loosened, a faint smile teasing the corners of her mouth. Jon had no more tears left to shed._

_“I promise, Lyanna.” Ned said, the newborn in his arms whimpering._

_The room started to lighten, turning a vibrant blue. Jon released Lyanna’s hand, looking towards the source. The dragon egg next to her shone, the color of a winter rose._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ain't no doctor. I don't know if this kind of procedure is even a thing in medieval or westerosi medicine, but I did it anyway since you didn't want me to just revive Jon on his funeral pyre.
> 
> I already apologized in the comments on the last chapter about the 'Deathgate scandal' as I'm calling it, lol. No one reads these chapters before I post, none of my friends or family watch game of thrones, or read. P face thingy.
> 
> Also, I want to throw around some ideas about some stuff, because I'm on the Titanic and there's a giant frickin iceberg on the horizon. Okay, right now Jon is sixteen, there's like a year and a half until show events are supposed to start happening. But, as you read in this chapter, news will spread throughout the kingdoms that dragons have returned and that Ned Stark's bastard is actually a Targaryen, sparking war and all that. I kinda have a rough idea of what I want to do for the war.
> 
> Would it be weird to start some events now, like some of you asked early on for the Starks to get their direwolves? And I want to start incorporating Daenerys into the story as well, but I haven't figured out how yet. When I first started reading GoT fics, there was one I liked that was abandoned after 4 chapters I think. Basically, Jorah kidnaps Dany hoping to get a pardon from King Robert, but Dany escapes and Jon and Robb find her alone on the road. 
> 
> Anyway, I thought about having Dany cross early, hearing news of a Targ from the north, leaving her brother that wants to sell her to the dothraki. But what about Dany's dragons? Or I could accelerate the timeline, maybe starting in Astapor with the the Unsullied, her dragons already hatched. Thoughts? I do read all of your comments, sorry for not replying a lot.
> 
> SPOILERS: There's a good chance I'll write this next one if I do Astapor.
> 
> I also thought about Robert burning Winterfell, forcing the Starks to flee, either north or across the sea. Thoughts?
> 
> Okay, I'm going to sleep now. I'll read comments at some point tomorrow afternoon.


	12. Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon wakes up in his chambers. Benjen, Jory, and the Stark soldiers leave Castle Black for Winterfell. Lord Commander Mormont speaks with Jon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left a comment on the last chapter, they were very helpful in deciding where I wanted to take this fic.
> 
> Sorry for the long wait, I just had nearly three weeks worth of self-doubt and writer's block (Yay...) So if this chapter is a steaming pile of trash, that's the reason. The following chapters should be more interesting, but updates will be sporadic. I have also made a change to the previous chapter, removing the last bit of dialogue between Benjen and Mormont about news reaching Winterfell.
> 
> I have not read the books yet, the ASOIAF tag is up because I incorporated some facts from the awoiaf wiki. I got into Game of Thrones around the time season six ended, so pretty recently. I've learned a lot, about writing and about the world of GoT throughout the course of writing this story.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy the chapter.

Jon

Jon woke with a spluttering cough, the image of his mother still clear in his mind. His hand immediately reached for his chest as his eyes scoured the room. He remembered the room, his chambers at Castle Black.

Groaning at the soreness in his chest, Jon pushed himself into a sitting position on the cot. He slid the blanket from him and looked down. A thick bandage wrapped around his entire chest, tied at the shoulder. Pieces of what happened started to flood his mind. Lyanys, Benjen, the wildling camp. He could still feel the wind, the rush of flight, the warmth of his dragon’s scales, the scorching heat of the flames. And the arrow that pierced his chest.

He coughed again, loudly enough to cause someone to open the door. Jon squinted, the light coming in from the door enough to conceal the man’s identity. Jon pushed himself into a sitting position, each movement feeling like a thousand knives piercing his chest.

His sight adjusted quickly after the door shut, and Maester Aemon came into view, leather bag slung around his shoulder. He shuffled to a chair at his bedside, placing his hand over his forehead.

“How are you feeling?” Maester Aemon asked, taking his hand from his head and removing a large bandage from the bag.

“Fine. I feel fine.” He answered as Aemon got up to change his bandage.

Jon hissed as Aemon’s hand brushed over a particularly tender area as he removed the old bandage and started wrapping the new.

“You will feel pain for a few more weeks as the wound heals. There will also be a quite significant scar, look to it the next time you decide to do something like that again.” Aemon reprimanded, tying off the wrapping. “What you did was reckless, irresponsible, foolish.”

Jon looked to him as he sat down in the chair at his bedside. He straightened up, preparing himself for an argument.

“What I did saved Benjen’s life. I don’t regret it.” Aemon looked ready to retort but held back. “How is Benjen? Lyanys?”

“Good, both. Your dragon flew off the morning after you returned. And Benjen… is on the road to Winterfell.”

Jon’s eyes went wide.

“How long was I asleep?”

“Just over a week. We thought it best for Benjen to return and explain all, he left with Jory and the others five days past.” Maester Aemon stood, placing his hand to Jon’s shoulder. “Get some rest, you’ll need your strength back.”

With that Aemon made to leave, but Jon stopped him before he could.

“Maester,” He swallowed thickly as Aemon turned back around. “While I was asleep, I had dreams. Vivid ones.”

“I gave you milk of the poppy before I performed surgery. The drug has been known to induce states of dreaming.”

“I don’t think it was because of that.” Aemon’s eyebrows lifted in confusion at his words, and he sat back down in the chair.

“What did you see?”

Flashes of his visions flooded his mind, the tower, his mother and father, the Trident. He felt his eyes well up at the memory of what he had seen, what he had lost.

“They were all of my mother and father. Almost like memories, but I could walk around in them. And I could feel everything, like I was there.” He recalled having the same kind of experience before Lyanys was born, though it was much less intense. “I watched my parents marry. I saw Rhaegar die on the Trident. I held my mother’s hand as she died.”

Aemon listened to him intently, a frown appearing on his face. He placed a comforting hand to his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Jon. It’s terrible enough to know what you’ve lost, but to see such things for yourself…”

“You believe me?” Jon asked, surprised by his near instantaneous acceptance.

“Yes, I do.” He replied frankly. “Legends tell that our ancestor Daenys, foresaw the Doom of Valyria in a dream. Perhaps there could be some truth to them.”

“But I didn’t see the future. Only the past.”

“Yes, but did you learn something from these visions of the past?”

He exhaled, trying to recall every last detail from his dream. One stuck out above all the others, the egg.

“Rhaegar gave Lyanna a dragon egg, meant for me. And when she died, it glowed blue. When I placed the egg in the hearth, the flames turned the same color.”

Aemon pondered the revelation for a moment, the frown on his face deepening.

“’Only death pays for life.’”

\-----

Benjen Stark

“We’ll set up camp here.” Benjen said, dismounting his horse and tying the reins to a nearby tree.

The ride to Winterfell was just as grueling as he remembered. Days entailed pushing their horses to the limit and nights were spent huddled next to the campfire, the flames keeping the cold northern winds at bay. They were making good time, and after just under a week, the hardest of the riding was out of the way.

He overheard his brother’s soldiers talk during the long nights and hard rides. He would have needed to be deaf not to. They all expressed their doubts about Jon being their lord’s bastard while they thought him asleep or not paying attention. Once the seed of doubt was planted, the theories spread like wildfire. Some voiced anger, others kept quiet on their opinions, reminding their brothers in arms that Lord Stark’s son, nephew, ward, whoever he actually was, possessed a dragon and wouldn’t hesitate to turn them to ash.

Benjen adjusted his sword belt and shirked off his cloak, throwing it in his saddle. He removed a short bow from a pouch attached to his saddle and took several arrows in hand.

“I’m going hunting,” Benjen announced to his groaning riding companions. “We could use some fresh meat.”

The attitude of the party shifted at the prospect of something fresh for supper, their faces brightening in the quickly deteriorating daylight.

“I’ll join you.” Jory said, and barked out orders to his men, removing his sword from his saddle.

“We’ve maybe an hour or two before it gets too dark to see.” Benjen informed him as they walked to the treeline.

They entered the woods, most of the light blocked out by trees. He and Jory moved silently through the underbrush, keeping their eyes peeled for movement.

The telltale pitter-patter of deer sounded within the depths of the forest and he and Jory shared a glance. Benjen nocked an arrow and waited, concealing himself amongst the trees and brush. His heartbeat picked up as he spotted his prey moving within his line of sight, facing him, not more than twenty yards away. The skittish animal tentatively moved closer, sniffing along the ground, refusing to show him its broadside.

Benjen shifted in the brush to try and better his angle, but only managed to make enough noise to cause the deer to stop its advance entirely. Benjen huffed silently as the deer rose its head and perked up its ears, now more wary of its surroundings. Benjen raised his bow and took aim, slowing down his breathing and patiently waiting for the right moment.

The deer snorted, scenting the air, and Benjen cursed under his breath. It snorted once more before finally turning side face, and he mechanically pulled back the drawstring and released, the arrow making an eerie whistle as it flew before hitting the animal behind its shoulder. It kicked and stormed off with incredible speed and agility, weaving in and out of the myriad trees. He waited for the sound of crashing in the underbrush before getting up to follow the blood trail.

Jory walked over and slapped him on the shoulder, congratulating him.

“Excellent shot.”

Benjen nodded his thanks and followed the trail of crimson further into the forest, it shouldn’t have gotten far. As that thought crossed his mind, he spotted his prey’s back legs sticking out behind the cover of a large Ironwood. Just as quickly as he had spotted the deer, it disappeared in a blur behind the tree. Benjen nocked another arrow and he heard Jory draw his sword from its sheath.

They stepped closer, hearing the sounds of flesh being rent and blood chilling growls. It sounded like a wolfs growl, only much more intense. He looked to Jory, noticing his hesitancy to move beyond the relative protection of the Ironwood. He peered out from behind the tree, and his eyes met yet another creature straight from legends.

A direwolf. The sigil of his house. The wolf was tearing into the deer with incredible force, the blood turning its grey maw into a deep red. The sight was beyond astonishing as no direwolves have called these woods home for hundreds, if not thousands of years. He unconsciously loosened his grip on the bow and arrows in his hand, and one slipped from his grasp, hitting the exposed roots beneath him.

The direwolf’s head immediately shot up from its stolen meal, immediately meeting his gaze. Benjen, without thinking, moved out from behind the tree. The wolf’s eyes followed him, its lips curling into a snarl that sent shivers down his spine. He held out the bow and slowly set it to the ground, noticing the animals’ defensive posture ease slightly as he did.

Benjen didn’t know what came over him as he inched closer to the wolf. Its snarl deepened and it growled loudly. He ignored its warning, every fiber of his being pleading him to back away and leave. But he didn’t and was now close enough to feel the warmth emanating from the massive wolf, its deep growls making his hairs stand on end. He knelt down at the rear end of the deer and locked eyes with the snarling beast, waiting for the flurry of claws and teeth.

They never came.

The wolf stopped its snarling and cast its eyes downward, turning away from him and slowly disappearing into the forest. His heart beat erratically, the sound of it deafening to him as he clutched the handle of a dagger in his belt with shaking hands. He cut off one of the deer’s back legs at the hip, the meat from that enough to satisfy his compatriots for the night.

Jory stepped out from behind the tree as he finished hacking at the carcass, nervously watching the woods.

“I…” Jory swallowed deeply, his sword arm trembling. “I’ll double the guard tonight.”

“That’s a good idea.” Benjen replied, though he was certain it wouldn’t matter if the wolf decided it wasn’t satisfied with the rest of the deer.

Benjen threw the haunch atop his shoulder and started back towards camp. He looked back to see the direwolf’s dark eyes staring back at him, not predatory but… curious?

\-----

Jon

Jon stepped out from his chambers, immediately hit by the cool air. It was a welcome feeling after being cooped up in his room, even with the light drizzle wetting his fur cloak. The pain in his chest had lessened over the course of the last week after he had awoken, though still very much a hindrance. Maester Aemon liked to remind him of how lucky he was every time he complained about the pain.

He received a multitude of looks from the men gathered in the courtyard, a mix of awe, curiosity, and wonder. Being under their gaze made him uncomfortable, like he was some great enigma. Aemon had warned him that many men of the Night’s Watch believed him to be a Targaryen, and ever since his return, Maester Aemon had kept the raven cages under lock and key. Jon looked away and marched towards the Lord Commander’s chambers, keeping his eyes glued to the ground.

Taking a shuddered breath, he raised his right hand and rapped it against the door. He shifted his weight between legs while waiting for an answer. Aemon had informed him of the Lord Commander’s knowledge of his secret. Jon was a bit apprehensive at first, but his experience with him taught him that he could be trusted. Jeor Mormont was a man of the Night’s Watch, not beholden to the politics of the realm.

“Enter.”

The ancient hinges groaned as the door opened, revealing the imposing yet good natured man standing behind his desk.

“How’s your healing coming along?” He asked as Jon moved to the middle of the room.

“Might take a few more weeks, but Aemon says that I’ll make a full recovery.”

“Good,” Mormont said with a nod. “Then you’ll soon be ready for this.”

The Lord Commander turned his back to him, then a second later turned back and walked over to him, sword in hand.

“I had a new pommel made, thought a wolf more appropriate than a bear.” He ran his fingers over the white wolf head pommel, emotion clear on his face. “It’s called Longclaw. Works as well for a wolf as a bear, I think. Or a dragon for that matter.”

The Lord Commander handed over the sword and Jon took it, his face scrunched in confusion. He pulled the blade part way from its scabbard, his eyes nearly popping from their sockets.

“This is valyrian steel.” He managed to say, his gaze flickering from the sword back to Jeor.

He grunted and nodded in affirmation.

“It was my father’s sword, and his fathers before him. The Mormont’s have carried it for five centuries. It was meant for my son, Jorah. He brought dishonor to our house but he… had the grace to leave the sword before he fled from Westeros.”

Jeor moved back behind his desk, leaving Jon standing with a dumbfounded expression on his face.

“My Lord, you honor me. But I can’t- “

“You can, and you will. Because of you and your… beast, we know what the wildlings are planning. You have given us a fighting chance in the war to come. So, you’ll take it, and I’ll hear no more about it.”

“Thank you, My Lord.”

He gave Jon a final nod, motioning for him to take a seat.

“Benjen told me the truth before he left, I am sorry. It couldn’t have been easy to learn.” The Lord Commander sighed. “I’m sure Aemon has already scolded you, and while I agree that your actions were rash, I admire what you did.” He gave him a small smile. “And that’s not something I often say.”

The Lord Commander’s face fell as he sank into his chair.

“Now then, on to more pressing matters. We’ve not received any word on wildling movements, but it will only be a matter of time before they strike. Their campaign against us left us weak, and the next few weeks will be our most vulnerable. I sent a raven to Winterfell, calling for aid. Benjen left as well, to explain all in person, but it will still be some time before help arrives.”

Jon met the man’s gaze and saw a battle raging within his eyes.

“If the wildlings attack before the north’s banners reach us, the Night’s Watch won’t be able to hold the Wall alone. Should the need arise… can I count on you and your dragon?”

Jon fidgeted uncomfortably in the chair.

“I don’t know.” He answered honestly. “I need more practice riding. My first flight didn’t exactly go as planned.”

“I understand, Jon. I don’t want you to feel pressured into fighting with us, do what you have to.”

“Thank you, Lord Commander.” Jon said, standing up and holding out his hand.

“Of course.” Mormont met his hand and gave it a firm shake. “If you require anything, let me know.”

“I will.”


	13. A Wolf's Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benjen returns to Winterfell while Ned makes final preparations to march, truths are told and secrets shared. Jon trains with Lyanys as the wildling army encroaches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies again for the delay, had to rewrite Jon's pov and I'm still not completely satisfied with it. Better late than never I suppose :P  
> I'll make it a goal to try and update weekly or biweekly from now on.

Eddard Stark

A familiar chill swept down his back as he sat behind his desk, absentmindedly sorting through letters from the northern houses. He had been working tirelessly to muster an army since the first raven had arrived from Castle Black, and his work had been rewarded. Nearly four weeks had passed since the Warden of the North had called his banners, and now an army nearly fifteen thousand strong had amassed outside Winterfell’s gates, mostly from the southern houses of the north. Manderly, Cerwyn, Hornwood, Dustin, Tallhart, Ryswell and Flint. He would once again leave his home to fight, and it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He sighed and leant back in his chair, reading the latest correspondence. Troop movements, supply trains, requests for arms and armor. It was enough to make one’s mind numb. He dipped his quill in ink and jotted down replies to the letters, keeping them short and to the point. A knock sounded from the door to his solar.

“Come in.” He replied without looking up from his scroll.

 He finished his reply as the door creaked open and returned the quill to the inkwell, finally looking up from the desk.

“Father, the lords have gathered in the Great Hall.” His eldest son spoke evenly, though he could tell by the look on his face that there was something else troubling him.

“Thank you, Robb. You needn’t have come yourself.”

His son’s face wavered slightly, just enough for him to see.

“I know father, but there’s something I wanted to ask.”

He sat in silence as he watched Robb shifted his weight nervously, taking a deep breath to steel himself.

“When you march, I want to join you.”

Ned felt another chill travel down his spine.

“Absolutely not.”

His son’s expression turned from pleading to determined, reminding him so much himself.

“And why not?” Robb exclaimed incredulously. “If I am to be Warden one day I need to learn how to lead. And I want to be at your side, like I was that day on the Kingsroad. I’m ready, father.”

Ned slowly stood from his chair and moved to stand before his son. He was proud of him, and as much as it would pain him, he knew he couldn’t deny his son this.

“Very well,” Robb’s jaw clenched as he placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll allow you to join us, but you’ll follow my every command, whether you like it or not. Is that understood?”

“Yes, father.” Robb answered with a nod.

He gave him a small smile before releasing his grip on his shoulder.

“Since you’re so eager to learn, I want you to join me at the war council.” He watched his son’s face light up. “And after, we’ll finish writing replies to all of the ravens.” Ned motioned towards the stack of scrolls on his desk, and chuckled as he witnessed Robb’s determination crumble. “Come, let’s go.”

\---

The lords of the north dropped their idle conversation as he and Robb entered the hall and made their way to the high table. Ned waited for his son and guests to be seated before he began the days council.

“Thank you for coming, my lords. Let’s keep this meeting short. I expect that we will march within the next week, as long as the shipment of food from White Harbor arrives within the next few days.” He looked in the direction of Lord Wyman Manderly, who gave him a short nod.

A side door opened, drawing Ned’s attention. Maester Luwin walked through and handed him another raven scroll, bearing the sigil of House Bolton. He nodded his thanks to Luwin and broke the seal, summarizing the contents for the room.

“Lord Bolton has joined forces with the Karstarks and Umbers and are marching on to Castle Black as we speak, their numbers at or near ten thousand, half of which are mounted cavalry. He also expects to meet Lord Galbart Glover on the way.”

He rolled the scroll back up and placed it on the table. Ned looked out amongst his vassals.

“They will reach the Wall long before we do, but if the wildling army is as large as Lord Commander Mormont suggests, we’ll need to join them to match the wildlings numbers. Does anyone have anything to add?”

The room stayed silent for a long moment, with no one speaking up.

“Make your final preparations, my lords. Unless something changes I’ll not call another council.” He studied the faces of his bannermen, noting the eagerness on them. “If there’s nothing else…”

A horn sounded from the north gate as he dismissed the room.

\-----

Arya

She heard the horn from her seat in the keep. The sound made her jump, and Arya pricked her finger with the sewing needle in her hand. She tossed down the poor excuse for a rose and set off for the courtyard, ignoring Septa Mordane’s calls.

Since Jon had left for the Wall, her mother had renewed her attempts at trying to get her to act more ladylike. Arya spent less time riding and more time fumbling with needle and thread, much to her chagrin. She missed Jon more than she’d like to admit. Winterfell just seemed so… lifeless and boring without her brother and his dragon.

Robb had taken notice of her sullen attitude on more than one occasion, offering to help her with bow and arrow. It had certainly helped, but she was sure that nothing would pull her from this slump, save Jon. It also didn’t help that he seemingly hadn’t had the time to send a single letter. That thought sent her stomping even faster through the halls of the keep. She was going to give him a piece of her mind when she saw him again. And today was the day. She had been ecstatic when she heard her uncle was returning, nearly jumping from her seat at the table with glee.

Arya squinted as she exited the keep into the courtyard, the late afternoon sun clawing at her exposed eyes. As her sight adjusted, she saw the banners of the northern houses waving lightly with the breeze. The castle was still abuzz with activity, all around were the sounds of soldiers training, weapons being forged, and the neighing of horses in the stables. She waited impatiently, her arms crossed, as she stared at the entrance to the courtyard.

Her heart beat picked up as a tattered and dirtied Stark banner came into view, the soldier carrying it looking equally worse for wear. She smiled as she caught sight of her uncle, though that smile faded quickly as the rest of the party entered with Jon no where to be seen. Benjen dismounted with difficulty and Arya walked over, forcing down her disappointment.

“Uncle Benjen!” She called out, feigning a smile.

Her uncle’s face lit up as his gaze slowly turned to her.

“Arya,” He laughed and bent down to embrace her. “Keeping out of trouble?”

“No.” She replied bluntly as they parted, causing her uncle to laugh again.

Her gaze flitted back to the courtyard’s entrance for a moment, hoping to see Jon ride through. Anger and pain washed over her at her next thought. _He wouldn’t have…_

“Where’s Jon?” She asked, forcing away the tears forming in her eyes. “Did he join the Night’s Watch?”

Benjen’s expression changed at her inquiry, looking panicked. He cleared his throat.

“No, of course not. He…” Her uncle anxiously scratched at his neck. “He wanted to stay and help until the army got to the Wall.”

Arya kept her face neutral and nodded, growing more suspicious after hearing the poorly crafted lie. Luckily, he was saved by her father and brother’s arrival. Benjen grabbed Robb by the shoulders, and they talked for a few moments before Robb moved to stand at her side. As her father embraced his brother, she saw his face pale and his eyes widen slightly. Arya also noticed the nervousness amongst Jory and the Stark guard. Something was wrong.

Benjen and her father quickly parted, not sparing her nor Robb a glance as they strode off towards the keep. Robb placed a hand to her shoulder and started to guide her away from them. She resisted, garnering a confused look from her brother.

“Come on, Arya. You said you wanted to shoot today and it’s almost evening.”

“Sorry, Robb. I have to get back to the septa and finish my needlework.” She followed after her father and uncle without another word, leaving Robb standing alone in the courtyard, his face scrunched in confusion.

\---

Arya kept at a distance as she followed her father and uncle, keeping to the shadows and concealing herself amongst the droves of servants and soldiers. They disappeared down a familiar hallway, the one that lead to the crypts.

She quickly crossed over and moved down the hallway, carefully watching her every step to stay as quiet as possible. Though barely audible, Arya started to hear voices. She reached the sets and descended to the point where the voices became clear.

“Dragons have been dead for centuries. That’s not possible.” Her father’s voice echoed through the crypts.

“It’s the truth Ned. Somehow, Jon managed to hatch Rhaegar’s egg.”

“Somehow? He didn’t tell you?”

“He was still unconscious when we left Castle Black. He was hurt bad, but Maester Aemon assured me that he would recover. I wouldn’t have left elsewise.”

Arya gasped and she clamped a hand over her mouth to prevent any further noise escaping. They must not have heard her as their conversation continued.

“Tell me everything.”

Arya listened intently as Benjen recited his tale. He described everything he knew about Lyanys in detail. She was shocked at how large Lyanys had grown in such a short time. But what shocked her most was what Jon had done. Riding into battle on dragonback like his ancestors before him. Arya was envious of him, but she also couldn’t stop the anger that rose inside her. The wildling’s arrow hadn’t managed to kill him, but by the time she was done with him he was going to wish it had.

“We won’t be able to keep him a secret anymore, Ned. The lords are likely to find out when they reach the Wall.”

“I know.”

“I think it’s time you told your children. Robb and Sansa at least.” Benjen said after a moment’s pause.

Her father stayed silent, to the point of it becoming uncomfortable.

“I don’t- “

“You should tell them… before they find out on their own. They deserve to learn it from their father, not from rumors.”

“I’ll speak with Cat.”

“Good. I’m going to clean up and join you for dinner.”

Arya crept back up the steps as they finished speaking, taking off at a sprint when she reached the exit.

\---

Her mother and father showed up to the feast late, fresh from arguing. They barely spoke or looked at each other throughout. Time passed agonizingly slowly as she watched her father pick at his plate, her own barely touched as well. Benjen spoke with many of the lords, his gaze often traveling back to the high table.

Eventually the hour became late, evidenced by a deep yawn from Rickon. Her mother and father shared a rare look and she stood, ushering Bran and Rickon from the hall. Taking one last drink, her father stood and announced his departure to the room, earning a few mumbles from the lords and ladies. Robb and Sansa stood from their seats also.

“Robb, Sansa, Arya. Come with me to my solar.”

Their father left without another word spoken and the three of them looked at each other. Arya shrugged her shoulders at their worried looks and followed.

\-----

Robb Stark

Something was off, more so than usual, and it wasn’t because of the impending war with the wildlings. Things had changed drastically between his siblings and parents. He wasn’t oblivious to it.

It had started well over a year ago, with Jon. He and his brother had become increasingly distant. Gone were the days of easiness and understanding between them. Jon, for some reason or another, had kept him at an arm’s length, often disappearing for hours with no explanation. He had kept silent on the matter, hoping his brother knew that he could trust him with anything. Jon apparently didn’t. They still sparred and rode, taking their lessons together, but the closeness that they once shared had all but disappeared.

The day he left for the Wall was even more strange. It had seemingly come from nowhere. He looked like he wanted to leave. Did he really feel like he didn’t belong?

That day also marked the change in the relationship between his parents. They had thrown themselves into their duties as Lord and Lady of Winterfell, coming together only for the sake of their younger children. The loving looks shared between his mother and father were gone, only ever seeing them in front of guests.

And Arya. She disguised her changes well, but not as well as she thought. He had seen the private glances and words exchanged between her and Jon. They had always been close, but it was something more now. Robb saw the way his little sister’s eyes lit up when she had heard of Benjen’s returning to Winterfell and the cloud of disappointment and sadness that hovered over her when Jon hadn’t been with them.

Whatever had changed was slowly tearing his family apart, and somehow Jon was at the center of it all. There was another reason he wished to march to the Wall. Robb needed to see Jon again, if his father wasn’t going to fix whatever this problem was, he would.

\---

It seemed most everyone in the Great Hall was unaware of the tension at the high table. He forced himself to eat, but he tasted nothing. Lord Stark mostly drank, his mind elsewhere. Arya made shapes with her vegetables and mother coddled Rickon and Bran until Lord Stark called it a night. Robb stood to leave, hoping to finish packing his belongings for the ride north, only to be stopped by his father’s voice. He and Sansa looked to Arya as Lord Stark walked off, who only shrugged at them.

\---

Robb stood in his father’s solar for the second time that day, feeling more than a little distressed by the look on his father’s face, pale, with beads of sweat on his brow. Lord Stark placed three chairs in the middle of the room and motioned for them to take a seat as he moved his own chair out from behind his desk to sit in front of his children.

His elbows on his knees, Lord Stark rubbed at his temples before looking to each of them.

“What I’m going to say must not leave this room, is that understood?”

They all nodded their agreement and he exhaled.

“I’m sure that you’ve noticed that something has been bothering your mother and me. I want you all to hear it from me before the rumors start to spread. It’s about Jon. He is not my son.”

Robb felt his jaw drop, of all the things he had expected his father to say, that was definitely not one of them.

“He is my sister’s son. Rhaegar Targaryen’s trueborn, the heir to the Iron Throne. His true name is Aegon Targaryen.”

His heart constricted in his chest at his father’s words. He scoffed.

“You’re lying. That can’t be true.” Robb stated, though the expression on Lord Stark’s face told him otherwise. He had never seen a man so pained and tortured.

“I’m not. Not anymore. I lied to keep him safe, I promised…”

For the first time in his short life, Robb saw a side to his father that he never believed existed. Vulnerable. A single tear streaked down his cheek as he gauged the reactions of his children. Robb looked to Sansa, tears pooling in her eyes as the weight of the truth hit her. He turned to Arya, who sat unmoving, though her face had softened somewhat. Robb was worried for her, worried that Jon not being their brother would destroy her.

“Arya, are you okay?” He asked, keeping his voice even.

She looked to him, then to father, meeting his gaze.

“I know, father. I know.” The meaning behind her words was obvious and all attention was turned to her.

“I followed him to the crypts after he found out, he told me. But I’ve been helping him far longer, with something else.”

Their father looked stunned.

“You- “

“Yes. We were afraid that you would take her away, or worse.” She said, her voice shaking.

“Her? Will someone please explain what is going on?” Robb asked, almost yelling it out in frustration.

Arya turned to him.

“Remember the night you took us to the crypts, when you said you saw a ghost.” Arya asked.

Robb nodded, a small smile playing at his lips as he remembered that day.

“Jon hid behind Aunt Lyanna’s statue and found a dragon egg. He hatched it a few days later. He named her Lyanys, after our aunt. And after his mother without knowing.”

If Robb had been holding something, he would have dropped it. A Dragon? A shocked silence enveloped them, but after a few long moments Lord Stark continued.

“Benjen was captured beyond the Wall and taken to the wildling camp. He escaped because of Jon. He and his dragon rescued him alone.” He paused and drew a deep breath. “Jon was hurt as they made their escape, but he will be fine.”

Robb shook his head in disbelief and took a moment to absorb it all. Jon, his brother, was a Targaryen. That thought alone sent a humorless laugh spilling from his mouth. After all he had just heard, it still seemed impossible. And to make it worse, Jon chose not to trust him with this, and that pained him to no end.

“Jon’s not our brother?” Sansa asked, her face contorted in sadness as she mulled it over in her mind.

Father looked ready to answer but Arya cut him off.

“No, he was always your brother.” She snapped at her older sister. “He still is.”

A small smile spread on their father’s face at Arya’s defense of Jon. Robb felt the same as his sister. Jon would always be his brother. Their conversation continued late into the night, with their father telling them everything that happened during the rebellion and Arya filling in the gaps on Jon’s dragon. One important question still lingered as the night came to an end.

“What happens now?” Robb asked his father.

“I convince the lords that Jon is on their side. They will accept him… They have to.” He placed a kiss atop both his daughter’s heads and bid them goodnight before sitting back down in front of him. “Finish preparing, son. We leave in a day’s time.”

\-----

Jon

_‘Bank left, Lya.’_

His command was met by a deep rumble within the dragon beneath him as she turned slightly to the left, wind billowing against her wings. He spotted his target on the ground below as he looked out from the side.

_‘Below us. Let’s light him up.’_

Lyanys released an earsplitting roar and dived towards the field of snow, her wings folding at her sides. Jon gripped the spines of her back tightly as their dive became nearly vertical, his vision blurring as the speed increased. Jon tucked his head low against her, watching as the target grew increasingly larger.

“Now!”

He was pressed flat against Lya’s back as her wings reopened. The muscles of her neck tensed as Lyanys released a stream of flame that warmed his numb face. Jon looked back as they regained altitude. Their target was aflame. A success. He laughed with joy and rubbed the scales of her neck.

Lyanys banked, gliding through the air over the Haunted Forest. Snow coated the tops of all of the trees within sight, except for a few. Something about the sight bothered him and Jon silently guided the dragon further over the forest, looking down in between the ancient trees. He could see nothing but darkness, they would need to get closer.

They closed the distance, the snow atop the trees becoming white clouds as the dragon skimmed over them. Jon leant over once more, his eyes adjusting to the dimness below. Hundreds of wildlings moved beneath him, marching south. Some of them stopped and looked up, meeting his gaze. It stayed completely quiet as he looked down among them, not a single man or woman screamed out, just silence. He passed over the cause of the snowless trees, giants. Guiding mammoths.

He and Lyanys veered off and started back south. War was coming, and soon.

\---

They flew over the top of the Wall and Jon watched as the courtyard of Castle Black vacated in preparation for his descent. His breath caught in his throat once again as he laid eyes upon the hills and forests of the north. His home.

Lyanys turned and descended, coming at the castle from the south. She flapped her wings to slow their fall and landed softly in the courtyard. Her right shoulder leaned further against the ground, allowing him down. Jon dismounted and walked up to his dragon’s head, running his hand along the length of her neck. Lya lowered her head level to his, meeting his gaze.

“Good work. I think we’re getting somewhere.” He smiled brightly at her, seeing his reflection in the dragon’s red eyes.

A rumble sounded deep within Lya’s chest as his hand lingered on her warm scales. She blinked and pulled away, flapping her wings strongly and taking flight. Jon sighed and watched her fly away, unaware of the man standing next to him.

“So, how was your training today?” Lord Commander Mormont asked, startling him.

Jon rolled his left shoulder, a mild soreness returning to his chest as the rush of flight dissipated.

“It went well, I think. We hit it on our second pass. Thank you again for setting it up.”

“No need to thank me, Jon.” He said, shaking his head. “It was the least I could do.”

Jon smiled sadly as the Night’s Watchmen slowly filtered back into the courtyard, still very much unused to Lyanys and her entrances.

“A raven arrived while you were out.” Jeor stated.

“What does it say?”

“Roose Bolton will arrive within the week, ten thousand men at his back.”

Jon nodded slowly.

“You need to send a reply. Ask if it’s possible to send their riders ahead. I spotted the wildlings in the Haunted Forest, less than a day’s march away.”

“I will, thank you. Get some rest, Jon. You could use some.” Jeor looked towards the Wall and left for the rookery.

Jon watched him walk off, certain that he wouldn’t be able to rest until this ordeal was over. The secret of his parentage bothered him more than usual now, what with the armies of the north closing in. As much as he trusted Aemon and the Lord Commander, even they couldn’t control the actions of every man. Rumors would spread among the common soldiers, eventually making their way to their lords. And then… Jon shook his head trying to rid the thoughts from his head.

He picked up a training sword off the ground and gave it a test swing. Too much time spent on dragonback was making his sword arm flabby he thought. Jon walked over to a training dummy and started hacking away, the familiar action a much-needed distraction. Jory’s departure had left him without someone willing to spar.

Jon didn’t know how long he had been at it when his chest started to burn from the exertion. He paused to recover and heard a slow clap from behind him.

“Well struck. I do believe that you killed him.”

He turned to look at the man, wiping the sweat from his forehead. The man who he recognized as Ser Alliser Thorne stopped his clapping, his face remaining stoic.

“What do you want, Ser Alliser?” Jon asked, with more bite than intended.

“To spar.”

“And why do you want to do that?”

“Listen, if you don’t want to I could care less. There are much better uses of my time. None here will spar with you, they think you’ll sic your beast on them.”

“And you think I won’t?” Jon questioned, a grin appearing on his face.

The beginnings of a smile fought its way onto Thorne’s face.

“No. So, what will it be?”

“Fine, let’s go.”

Jon removed Longclaw and leaned it against the dummy, following Ser Alliser to the center of the courtyard. He picked up a small shield, just light enough for him to wield without difficulty. Ser Alliser shed his cloak and picked out a sword and shield. Black brothers started to gather and watch the spectacle unfold.

They started to circle, each trying to goad the other into making the first move. It was a waiting game as Jon let his sword hang down and slide across the ground, purposefully opening himself up for attack. Ser Alliser took the bait and lunged forward, thrusting the blade towards his chest.

Jon sidestepped the strike, just barely missing its mark. Alliser recovered quickly and continued the onslaught, picking each of his opportunities wisely. Jon was fast enough to meet him each time but he could feel his strength waning. He had to end it, and fast.

He and Alliser locked their blades for a moment before the larger man shoved him off, almost managing to send him to the ground. They circled each other again and Jon decided to try something risky, dropping the shield from his left hand. Without missing a beat, Ser Alliser charged again. Jon feigned a sidestep and instead fell to a knee and thrust the blade under his shield and into his hip, with Alliser’s sword swinging mere inches above his head.

Jon stood up after a few moments and looked at his opponent. Ser Alliser was hunched over and clutching his side, making Jon think he had actually hurt the man. Much to his relief and surprise, he straightened up, a full-on smile spread over his face.

“It’s been a long time since someone has beaten me. Though I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, Rhaegar Targaryen was a great swordsman.”

Jon only smiled back and held out his hand, which he gladly took. Ser Alliser pulled him closer, his smile disappearing.

“I hated you the moment I set eyes on you. Jon Snow, the bastard of the man who helped topple the Targaryens. The family I fought for.”

Ser Alliser loosened his grip on Jon’s arm and continued speaking.

“I, like many of my brothers, were given a choice after King’s Landing fell. Join the Night’s Watch or die.” He sighed, a scowl forming. “Eddard Stark helped put me here. I hope you can understand why I resented you.”

“I do.” Jon replied. He gave a short laugh devoid of humor, wondering how many people hated him just because of the fact he existed.

Ser Alliser nodded unsurely before noticing the brothers still gathered around. His usual stoic expression returned, flickering with anger.

“What are you all standing around for? Get back to work. Now!”

The crowd grudgingly started to disperse, and Ser Alliser turned his attention back to him.

“Don’t take supper in your chambers tonight, join us. I wasn’t lying when I said some of the men feared you, and I think it would do them good to see you amongst them again.”

“I’ll think about it, Ser Alliser.”

\---

Jon shirked off his cloak and laid it across the table in his chambers before slipping under the blankets of his cot. The evening had turned out far better than he had anticipated. Ser Alliser had been right, some of the men did fear him. He talked with most of the men throughout supper, allaying their fears of him and even swapping stories. The mood was such that one almost couldn’t tell that an army of wildlings was bearing down on them.

He rolled restlessly beneath the furs, unable to stop thinking about the coming battle and what his part in it would be. Jon willed himself to believe that the Night’s Watch would be able to hold out without his intervention. Even with his training, he was hesitant in testing it. Jon sighed, finally coming to rest on his back. He closed his eyes and slowly drifted off to sleep, his mind flooding with images of fire and blood, and something else.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of dead time in this chapter and that was another reason for my holding back this chapter as long as I did. I read that the trip from the Wall to Winterfell is three weeks if you're driving the horses to their limit, so Benjen's return was within 3-4 weeks. Everything is happening at about the same time. Jon's pov starts off two weeks after his last pov. It's not that bad now that I'm writing this out lol.
> 
> I left out the direwolf for a later chapter. I thought it would seem forced to have Benjen ride in with the direwolf at his side. I also hope the Alliser bit didn't seem forced either, and I just realized that there's a sparring scene in every other chapter. How else are men supposed to bond in Westeros?


End file.
